


The Paths of the Fools

by BlackandPinkUnicornGuardian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU from S7E2, AU from S7E5, AU from S7E6, Alternate Season/Series 07, Alternate Season/Series 08, Battle of the Trident, Deconstructing myths, Deconstructing prophecies, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It, Love, Marriage, Passionate Sex, Politics, Porn With Plot, Prince Rhaegar's death, Prophecies, Romance, Rough Sex, Sansa's sexual awakening, Several perversions, Sex, Songs, Strategy & Tactics, Tender Sex, Tourney at Harrenhal, Trident, War, romantic sex, several fetishes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-12-17 19:25:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 68,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11858091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackandPinkUnicornGuardian/pseuds/BlackandPinkUnicornGuardian
Summary: Daenerys and Jon still need to learn a lot about ruling, and about loving. Jorah and Sansa have a lot to teach them, and are ready and willing to do just that.Alternate universe for the show, starting from season 7, especially episode 5 and 6 with changes here and there. Jorah x Daenerys (slightly more advanced for obvious reasons) and Sansa x Jon (needs a longer way, obviously).The title is inspired by the book-verse-based theme of the "fool in love" and by the Paths of the Dead in Lord of the Rings.





	1. Anger and pain

**Author's Note:**

> Anger and pain is what Jorah and Sansa have to endure when Daenerys and Jon act impulsively, forgetting the advice they had previously given them.
> 
> This chapter is in two parts: Beyond the Wall and At Winterfell.

 

### Beyond the Wall

Jorah was usually the most admiring and devoted man. However, this time Jorah’s heart could not help but feeling a cold hand squeezing it when he saw Daenerys risking her life like that, flying by herself with her three dragons in what was an inferno of ice and fire. She had all of her life before her, and – besides - she had a vision to bring to life by taking over Westeros and making it a different continent than it used to be, with lords fighting and bickering, and the common folk suffering.

She also had him, willing and ready to die in her service, as he had told her repeatedly between the lines, and as he had tried to convey with their sweet parting. Unfortunately, on that occasion, Daenerys had focused too much on their love instead and less on her queenly role and on the choices she had to ponder. And that impulsive behaviour, so very typical of her, was probably the reason she was here, now.

The men of the mission disappearing beyond the Wall never to come back would have been proof enough to convince her to come north with a strategy, her armies, and the knowledge Jon had left in Winterfell and Dragonstone. Cersei and the southern front would not have mattered anymore, at that point. Let her be queen of the ashes, of a graveyard, of a rotting palace in a stinking city nobody even cared for anymore beyond the border of the Crownlands. Here was the war that mattered.

Instead, she had come to the rescue. In the current situation, not even his willing sacrifice could grant her safety and success, though, and Jorah felt almost ill at the thought that he might die for nothing, and she might be following immediately after.

He locked his eyes with hers, and tried to convey his thoughts. They had communicated so much without words, as of late, and he hoped he could manage it again.

Of course, _the other young and careless one_ , Jon, was trying to match Daenerys’ _beau geste_. Pain and anger mixed in Jorah’s soul at another thought: what if Jon died and Daenerys survived? Would Daenerys feel lucky to be the survivor?

Another sting of pain in Jorah’s heart.

Sure, Daenerys clearly loved him, Jorah Mormont, and their reunion left no doubt about that. He was grateful for the Queen’s affectionate response to his return and for that farewell he would have never expected – he even had to keep the distance, knowing in his head that following their hearts in that moment was no good… Nevertheless, he knew she had definitely a certain _curiosity_ about the young King in the North, who did not seem to mind the attention – on the contrary, he seemed to reciprocate said curiosity.

Jorah was experienced enough to understand some of Jon’s reactions, and was able to understand what had happened. Their parting had revealed that Daenerys felt more strongly for him than she ever admitted, and for that moment of sincere love he had felt truly thankful: even if he died, he would be dying knowing she had loved him back – no matter what kind and what degree of love. However, Daenerys’ life went on,  and she met a young and charming King, when she probably had given up any hope to see her faithful knight again, after almost a year – as anybody would have done, considering greyscale’s usual progress. Only then, he had indeed come back… and all the emotions of that day in Vaes Dothrak had come back in spades, for both of them.

Jorah felt grateful, and happy, his head spinning at times, when he looked at her and he saw her finally without veils – the woman he loved with all his heart was looking at him with love in her eyes, and even Tyrion had hinted at that a few times. But he was her knight, and his love for her had no limits. His limits in loving a woman had already stretched  so far that they included selling people to keep his love happy, letting his love go her own way, challenging sorcery and demons, crossing continents and cultures, cheating death many times, repeating most of these feats twice, once for Lynesse and once for Daenerys. And now that he and the latter had crossed paths once again, now that he wanted to kiss her on those wonderful lips and tell her finally how perfect she was as a woman and as a queen, now that he had seen he could have done that and she would have liked it, he felt like he was standing in the way of a good match for a young queen. After some arduous and agonizing consideration, he had resolved with a heavy heart that he could not allow that. Jon was a king, younger than he was. He would bring an army with him: he would grant her the throne thanks to the increased military power, and he would have more chances at staying by her side longer, considering he was a little more than a boy - as opposed to himself, a survivor of two marriages and many, many wars already.

Considering all this, and considering that Daenerys either had not gotten the unspoken message about her being inconsiderate - or maybe she had simply ignored it -, Jorah understood it was time to impersonate once again the honest, blunt and gruff advisor, to try picking up the irresponsible king and to put him on Drogon, orders and ranks be damned. “My Queen, this is neither the place nor the time to linger. Take off. Immediately. Load the wight and the men you need to bring it to King’s Landing, then take off.”

Nothing had ever triggered Daenerys Stormborn more than an attempt at undermining her royal authority. She might have always allowed her bear – him and only him - to speak to her so openly and gruffly even in disagreement because she had always known he always gave sincere and well-thought advice. However, right now she could only be full of rage at the two men trying so desperately to be heroes: Jorah, who still hadn’t climbed on Drogon, and Jon, who wasn’t even near it, fighting off wights instead. Daenerys’ jaw and jigsaw contracted, preparing for the outburst.

Jorah beat her, though. Her bear had been looking at Jon intently, trying to see an opening for him to capture him and throw him on Drogon. However, seeing how the young king continued to advance and fight wights, he shouted, his voice full of heartfelt worry: “JON!” Jorah’s battle and fighting experience were enough to tell him that the more they lingered there, the more they could be all in danger, despite the advantage brought to them by three fire-breathing dragons. Therefore, the mindless advancing and engaging wights had to stop immediately.

As usual, Jorah was right. He might have missed the Night King’s exact moves, but he had felt in his guts that something horrible was coming. And here it was.

In a matter of instants, all of them hat to look in surprise, despair, fear, and sorrow as Viserion, one of the little dragon babies he had pulled out of the remains of a pyre long ago along with their mother, went down screeching and screaming in pain. None of them humans screamed, though: Viserion’s screeches of agony, as well as Rhaegal and Drogon’s squawks of rage sufficed. Jorah felt like they were crying for all of them.

He looked immediately at their mother, worried. His heart had broken, so he knew she would be devastated. Proving his intuition, he recognized Daenerys’ typical coldness, stiffness and distancing, the ones she often adopted when things got emotionally complicated and she wasn’t ready to deal with said emotions. He knew that spear did not just hit Viserion, but Daenerys’ heart as well, and his heart too. He knew better than to touch her, even if it was only to comfort her.

He didn’t know if he wanted to be angry at himself for volunteering first in line for getting a wight, thus starting the chain of events that killed Viserion, or at Jon for overdoing all of it, being – sad to say – the ultimate reason Viserion was hit. Jon had first started going along with his own first idea, of which the young king had missed the implicit meaning, subverting it and making it a challenge in heroism. Then, he had made a patrol mission out of it, with Tyrion’s support. Then, upon Drogon’s landing, he had stayed behind far longer than strictly necessary to keep the wights away from Drogon, even advancing towards the enemy instead of falling back as soon as possible.

And now the young and stupid king was… still not falling back.

_Stupid fool. Neither I nor Daenerys would want to take off without you, you little fool. Come back here, or the Others WILL take you, for real._

Jon was now looking at the Night King instead, almost challenging him, trying to convey his desire of revenge.

It wasn’t a wise thing to do, challenging a being with such powerful magic and skills. Not to mention the utter uselessness of stating the obvious, which was that there would be retribution for what he had done, all of it.

Once again, in a matter of seconds, Jorah could only witness yet another horror: a few wights bringing Jon underwater, and the Night King preparing to throw another javelin.

Daenerys saw it too, and finally she understood it was no time to mourn or be shocked: no matter how terrible Viserion’s and Jon’s fate were, their fates were already sealed, and all it mattered was giving humanity one last chance. _Thank the Lord of Light, or whomever…_ were Jorah’s thoughts.

However, shortly after Drogon had taken off, he felt the javelin whistling not so far from them… and then he was sliding, and, for an instant, he was sure he would follow Viserion and Jon. It probably was the right fate for him, things being as they were. He would die after successfully serving her: it was the only wish he still had left, dying in her service.

A hand caught him. A scream reached his ears, and then a familiar attitude: “NO! Jorah, not you, **_not you too_**. **YOU! HOLD HIM** , pull him up, or you **will have to answer to myself** for your failure!” A Queen back in charge, the Lord of Light be thanked – the appropriate God for protecting a woman like Daenerys, after all.

Jorah was pulled up, and although his head told him to hold tight, and although his body complied, he felt like he had blacked out. He could see Daenerys in front of him, he could sense they were safe, but that was all. The shock was too great for anything else.

## At Winterfell

“Lady Sansa. A raven. From Eastwatch.”

An instinctive, incontrollable reaction to the announcement let Sansa despair without even knowing what the raven was about. _Yet another raven. As if I hadn’t enough on my mind and on my nerves already. Will the Gods ever have mercy on the Starks of Winterfell?_

“Yes, thank you, maester” she let out with a voice full of tension and fear.

She could not fathom why she was feeling so dreadful, all of a sudden, but she felt a pain in her guts. It might just have been a request for grain or other supplies.   _Maybe it’s just me reliving all those dreadful moments I survived. The raven I received from King’s Landing recently must have brought back unpleasant memories…_ Sansa tried to rationalize. _It cannot be the Army of the Dead already. They would not be able to send ravens if things had gotten dire. Or would they? No, Bran would have foreseen it. Wouldn’t he?_

 The parchment was unrolled, and it was the moment of the truth.

And after reading a few lines Sansa had understood that her first instinctive reaction at the announcement was justified. Rage and dread, anger and pain mixed in her heart. The recipients of her anger were, actually, two: namely herself, for not acknowledging how hard Jon had been working to ensure humanity’s safety, and Jon, for not letting her know what he was doing. Why, why hadn’t she - the Lady of Winterfell and Regent of the North on Jon’s behalf - been made aware of that stupid, risky plan **_beforehand_**? Why hadn’t he told his people? Why hadn’t he told his sister? Was it payback for her going behind his back to secure the Knights of the Vale? Or for disagreeing with him in court, in front of all the Lords?

No, that wasn’t it. True, she had spoken against his idea of getting south, and she had expressed different opinions even before that, but she had always explained and argued why. And Jon had listened, both times – he had been baffled, certainly annoyed in part, but she knew he had listened. Likewise, she had seen he meant well: he really meant to go the extra mile to secure their home, and the North’s cohesiveness, and then humanity’s survival. His words had partially hurt her, but she knew he hadn’t meant to do that.

This reminded her that there had been so many ironies in their recent interactions.

The first of these ironies? One of the things that made them argue was that Jon felt the need to be in charge, protective, to act like the head of the House, to be like their father. She had always envisioned herself as the maiden fair who would be swept off her feet by a protective and strong man, maybe even put on a throne by this one paragon of a man. And now that she had _somehow_ gotten a protective man in charge at her side – not the way she had imagined, though -, she found out that she didn’t mind the protection, but she also wanted to decide if and when she needed protection, and that she definitely didn’t want him to be the only one in charge.

The second irony was even bigger. If one would have told her, years ago, that the half-brother she always ignored would become her most trusted and close companion years later, and that he would have left her the North, she would not have believed it. She would not have believed that his smiles would have been the only thing able to rekindle some joy and hope in her heart, after years of solitude, violence and despair, and after discovering her remaining siblings had lost their smiles forever.

\--

She wouldn’t have believed what she witnessed in the crypts before Jon’s departure either, something that had partially reconfirmed many of her thoughts. Trying to talk to Jon in a relaxed manner and privately, and to do some reminiscing in front of their family’s tombs, she had followed him, only to notice someone had had the same idea – Petyr, of all people -. And then she had heard Petyr, and she had heard and seen Jon, and her soul and her chest suddenly seemed to burst as if they were on fire. _So, this is one of the cases in which you do appreciate protectiveness_ her mind had suggested her. She had given up on her dreams of finding a gallant man to marry long ago, convinced there were none and it was all a lie perpetuated by poets and singers, in order to make their art full of appeal. She thought she would one day have to settle for less, if not forced into yet another political marriage. But then, if Jon could be so gallant and threaten a man _for her_ , it meant that there might still be men like him out there. _Or maybe he is the only one, and he is my brother a_ sadder voice replied from another corner of her head.

\--

Sansa looked at the parchment again in disbelief. She hoped the words would change if she re-read them. In the end, she realized the raven implied that Jon might not come back. He was beyond the Wall, with a group of volunteers, in serious trouble, so serious that he had one of his men go back and send a raven to the Targaryen queen asking for her help, for her dragons.  Luckily, the few Northerners supporting the  - illiterate - Wildlings at the garrison understood it was mandatory to write to Winterfell too, to tell them to be prepared for everything, especially the worst.

_He might not come home. I might never be able to say “I wish Jon was here” anymore. I might never have anyone smile at me. I might have to pick up the pieces, again. I might **have to** become a queen, not like in my childhood dream, but alone, without a king, not to see my kingdom prosper and grow, but to try to save it from doom._

It hurt. She had lost many of her family already, but this was different. It felt different. _It must be because I am now the Lady of Winterfell, and because I had deluded myself that everything would be better, now. With a terrible war coming… how can I have been this naïve, again?_

Ghost looked at her, his snout seemingly sad and worried like she was. The direwolf surprised her often with its presence, during her day, and followed her, as if Jon had ordered it to guard her in his absence. Would Jon become a ghost following her through the aisles and corridors at Winterfell as well? Would that last glance be the last picture of him she would bear in her mind?

Sansa had no dragons, but she hoped this Targaryen Queen could get there in time and help Jon. She even envisioned herself briefly, or Arya, or both, jumping on a dragon -stopping by while flying to Eastwatch - and going there to help too. This Queen Daenerys had three, after all: surely, some help would have been welcome, and she could have commanded her beasts to accept them… _Well, maybe Arya would be the better choice_. _I would be quite useless on a battlefield. And maybe Ghost would be useful too_. She wished Bran could intervene as well…

 ** _Bran._** He saw the Army marching on Eastwatch. She had to order him to try to see something. Could she order him to have visions? She had to know.

\--

“Sansa, the Night King can sense me warging ravens. He forced me out of my raven last time. We are lucky I was able to see enough to inform Jon. The only thing I can try is finding a heart tree around Eastwatch that allows me to see something.”

“Then you will have to try the… heart tree vision! And you can also warg ravens and stop at Eastwatch, staying away from the Night King, can’t you? It will still be better than waiting for new ravens to come. I have already alerted our best fighters, and the Knights. The more we know, and the sooner, the better I can decide how to use them.” Sansa would not take no for an answer, and made it clear it was an order issued by the Lady of Winterfell, not a sisterly request.

Arya intervened: “And what are your orders for me? I reckon you must have thought of something for me to do _, my lady_.”

“If we learn that Eastwatch needs reinforcements, would you ride up north with our vanguard? Even if… if…” Sansa could not bring herself to say it aloud.

“:.. if Jon is already gone? Or if the Army of the Dead has managed to pass the Wall? The real question, the one the Lady of Winterfell should ask, is: do we have any other chance than to do our part, all of us? I am not a lady: staying here, sewing cloaks and surcoats, praying Gods that don’t exist… or even ruling, supervising… it’s not me and will never be me. Of course I will ride up north. You don’t even have to order me. I would go anyway.”

Bran agreed: “That’s why I gave you a Valyrian steel dagger. Because you can use it, and use it well.”

Sansa didn’t dare to ask him if he meant he had seen Arya fighting the Walkers and the Dead in his visions, or if it was just a logical choice, considering Arya’s obvious inclination towards fighting. She was so worried already for the sudden emergency that she didn’t want to worry about the upcoming war too. A wave of terror washed over her and seemed to block her…

Then, Jon’s voice sounded again in her mind. _Until I return, the North is yours._ And she found her courage back.


	2. Wake-up calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the almost failed and very painful mission beyond the wall, Daenerys has a wake-up call, but still behaves very much like her HyperTargaryen self.  
> Jorah is very much Jorah.  
> Sansa sends her regards to Eastwatch by raven. Jon’s awakening will be not exactly what he expects.  
> ("Sarcasm and sweetness" could be the alternate title for this chapter).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Books references and a lot of hidden mockery/criticism of season 7 episode 6 ahead!

## At Winterfell

The Lady of Winterfell was on the battlements, again.

Would the skies bring her tidings? Would she notice a raven, or witness dragons? Or would the Kingsroad suddenly be alive with men coming from the Wall?

“My Lady, I am ready to leave for King’s Landing.”

“Very well, Lady Brienne. I put my trust in you.” She stopped to look at her. “And so should you, in me. I am not the girl my mother wanted you to protect, not anymore. This is my home, mine and Jon’s, and I am holding it against every threat, I swear.”

Brienne saw the resolve and the courage in her eyes, and felt reassured, and relieved. “Yes, my lady. I wish you good fortune, then, until my return.”

“I wish you good fortune, too.”

## At Eastwatch

Upon feeling the ground beneath his feet again, Jorah, who had gone away inside for a while, remembered all. And wished _he_ had died instead. He could still see Daenerys’ stiffness. He could still see Viserion and Jon going down in his mind, replaying the horror over and over. And he wished he could take Daenerys’ pain on his shoulders too right now, and relieve her of it. She did not deserve that. She had been careless, but she did not deserve to lose so much.

She didn’t even turn to look at him before she issued her first order, in the voice she used to banish him that day in Meereen: “ _Ser Jorah_ , follow me.”

He followed her to some room, somewhere, upstairs, through wood ice, – he didn’t even notice the route they had taken, or heed the garrison’s advice informing them of what was where, worried and shocked as he was.

Then they stopped, and she turned, and she finally let out the tears he had seen several times on her beautiful face, this time in spades. She threw herself in his arms, her face on his chest, sighing and gasping loud.

He knew he should not let himself be carried away too much, considering his previous resolution and considering the complicate situation, but he could not help himself, and neither could he bear to deny her what comfort he could offer. He hugged her tightly, something he hadn’t dared to do the last time. And he waited for her to act or to say something, stroking her back lightly, trying to convey that he loved her unconditionally and that she could be honest with him.

“ ** _Jorah_** … At least you are still here. My bear. My knight.” She was tightening her hold on him and stroking her face lightly on his chest, and he felt dreadful, for she was probably in an even sharper pain than he was.

“Your Grace…” he sighed “I wish… I wish I were the one who went down that hole in the ice instead of Viserion and Jon both. It was what I wished for myself, dying for you. I am so sorry, I really am.”

Daenerys lifted her face and looked at Jorah, now openly pissed despite the reddened eyes and the tears running freely. “How could you even **_think_** of that? How could you even think of saying such a horrible thing to me right now? Do you think I would be happier if I lost you?” accompanying her statement with slaps on his chest.

Jorah was surprised.

She continued: “Do you think I was playing the part of the gracious queen when I welcomed you back? Or when I joked on our continuous farewells and reunions, trying to stop the tears pooling in my eyes, and to set my chest free from the sobs and sighs that were there, threatening to make a scene out of your departure? Do you think I was happy to hear you say ‘Let me serve you, let me try hard to **_die_** for you’, stealing me one of my cards to stop the madness with your own words, and to see you really meant to die, for whatever reason you deemed worthy?”

“My… queen, no, I am not thinking that. But I feel you might wish… at least one of them was spared, and I would have gladly taken his place, for you, to lift some of the pain from you. After all, my dying at your service has always been lingering there. It is in my oath, you cannot have forgotten it. Sooner or later, that is how I will go, most likely. It is only a question of time. Viserion, on the other hand, was your child, and Jon…”

Tears still pouring, her expression hardened. “I said before I _need_ you by my side, and I meant it. The King in the North knew what he was doing, and he did it freely. And I knew what he was doing, too. It was painful to watch, but it would be even worse to be all swarmed away by…”

“Daenerys… you don’t have to lie to me. My being at your side is unconditional. You will not convince me Jon’s death means nothing to you ** _._** ”

Daenerys knew then she had been more irresponsible than it seemed: caught in a situation she hadn’t foreseen, she had used her queenly role and her conquest plan as an excuse to avoid pondering and thinking about things. But not pondering had not stopped herself from being almost an open book, apparently: only, the book was more like the first attempt of a toddler at writing and drawing than a collection of fine poetry.

Now, she had to put a patch on what she had caused. And she knew, even without pondering, what she felt for the man who was in front of her. She had showed him, to be honest  she had expected him to notice too, and she still couldn’t understand why he had still stuck to his knightly role during the days on Dragonstone despite the emotions were, finally, reciprocated.

“Jorah, please. Listen to me. I want us to talk as a woman and a man. You cannot understand how I felt all the times I had to send you away, or all the times we were parted. I almost never admitted it to myself. The moment I realized I really might not see you anymore… I understood our bond ran deeper than I ever thought possible, and I understood my feelings. You are the one person I will never, ever want to be parted from again. I love you, Jorah. And I am sorry. **_I_** am the one who has to be…”

Jorah was taken back. “Daenerys… you… there is nothing to be sorry about… ”

But Daenerys wasn’t finished: “No, Jorah, please, hear me. All I had was Viserys. And then I was sold to Drogo. And Drogo… I think he came to love me, in his own way… we both loved riding, and we loved power, and we loved feeling honoured and revered, even feared. He was also the first who bedded me, and had me in his bed every night, and so he could just shape me even easier into a woman fit for him, and it was easy for me to find him my sun-and-stars. And I remained convinced that young men full of rage and lusting for blood were the fit match for me – young, because all heroes have to be young and handsome, and rage and blood to match my House motto. It is so stupid now. You … you have been by my side for so long, and I have been able to look at you so many times, even to see through you, as you were able to see through me. You don’t shy away from rage or from killing either, if you have to. You are strong, and fit, and skilled in fighting. I will never forget you fighting with the Dothraki, or in that pit… But there is so much more in you than that, Jorah: all the rage, the raw force and the willingness to fight… but you can be tender, faithful; you always want me to talk to you for real, and you never shy away from talking to me without filters. You have never been ashamed of showing how big of a fool for love you can be. You gave me my most beloved wedding gift, you have been my first friend, and you have always understood my longing for home, even before “home” and the throne became the same thing in my mind.  And then… I thought I might have lost you, forever, to a horrible disease. And it was then that I realised… the tenderness of our friendship, the ease with which we communicated in all the forms, the shivers I felt the few times I caressed or kissed your cheek, the times I had been enticed by your chest, by your eyes, or by the way you moved in your armour,” – Jorah felt a sudden heat taking over his body - “the familiarity that had become unavoidable, the admiration, and even the rage and the pain… Oh, Jorah, I have been so stupid.”

He could not bear to hear that: “No, that wasn’t stupidity. If it’s not your grief and your fear talking **_right now_** , then you needed your time. As much as I longed for you, I never once wished to have you as my lover or my wife for any other reasons than love and desire. I couldn’t bear to see my woman unhappy. It was one of the first things that made me care for you so much: your sad face… I couldn’t bear to see you sad, or in pain, or in fear. My heart felt a pang and skipped a beat at the same time from the very first moment I saw you, sad, and beautiful, and then suddenly so happy to receive old books from home.”

“My bear… I even told myself, during the months on that ship to Westeros, that it was stupid of me, putting all those roles into a single man. Who does that? If one loses that person, loses it all. I told myself that I had to think of my throne, and to have separate roles, and maybe even marry – or hint at a marriage – to tie alliances. But **_you came back_** , you came back to me once again. You always do, and the Gods allow you to come back to me, and I am always immensely happy to have you back, to hear the sound of your voice, to hear your words as you look at me with your beautiful blue eyes. And I don’t want you to leave me, ever, again.”

Jorah let his tears flow, conventional roles be damned. He could feel she was saying the truth, he could see it on her face, in her hands gesture, caressing his cheeks the same way she had done long ago. The woman he loved reciprocated his feelings, and she had even told him all the things HE would have wanted to tell her and never had a chance to tell.

But he wasn’t stupid, and unexperienced, and he knew he had not imagined those looks between Daenerys and Jon. As much as he wanted to kiss her, and tell her he loved her so much, he wanted to give her a choice, **_the_** choice. “Daenerys… my queen… I have told you before how I feel for you. I have showed you best I could.” He stroke her cheek, wiping off her tears, and looked at her tenderly, pouring his soul into his stare: he wanted her to know how much he loved her, and that conversation might be the only chance he had. “But I know I haven’t dreamed when I saw you and Jon Snow having a connection that was not that of two prospective allies finding an agreement. Daenerys… he is a king, he is younger…you just need to order me to serve where you are to have me by your side. You don’t need to marry me for that.” Another tender caress to her face. “I want you to be sure of your choices, and I am not sure I am the choice you should make. Now that Jon is not here anymore, you might feel fate has chosen for you. Don’t let fate choose for you. Daenerys Stormborn has started taking charge of her life long ago, and I loved her for that, too.”

Daenerys caught his hand in hers. “Jorah, my beloved knight… don’t you think I might have had enough time to think about you in all these years? Everything else is not important now. Only you.”

“I am just afraid you might be… not considering all factors, or maybe not the right ones. I would not want to see you unhappy with your choices. I couldn’t bear to see you regretting your steps. And I also fear you might be only thinking about marrying me because there is no Jon anymore, and because you don’t want to mourn Viserion alone… ”

A little annoyed, Daenerys stopped him: “Are you doubting the words I just told you? Did they sound like an act to you? Jorah, I have _always been happy_ with you at my side.  You made me happy as a person, and successful as a queen. Don’t ever, ever doubt that, my bear. But we have always be honest to each other, so here it is. And I am asking you for counsel: Jon… Jon had impressed me so, amazed me, even charmed me. He has done so many things for his people, has some… strange sadness, or shyness, and that made me curious, used as I was to the Dothraki, and to those open books that are your eyes and your face. He probably even remembered me of you a few times, with his brooding and his harsh speaking.” she added smiling, and all of a sudden harbouring another suspicion about why she had been smitten by the King in the North.

Jorah could not see where this was going. “My queen, I love you, I have loved you for a very long time. My love is unconditional. If you were already starting to be attracted to a younger and powerful man, it means it’s not your aging knight you have to marry. And maybe you will find another soon, like Jon…”

“Why should I **_not_ ** marry you? Jorah, I am here to change things. And I am doing it by reverting old customs and institutions. I _**know**_ I want to marry **_you_**. I started feeling interested in Jon, I won’t deny that, but when I discovered you were alive, there was nothing, absolutely nothing that made me think Jon could take your place in my heart. I do not understand my connection to Jon completely… but I understand my bond to you, I really do. And I also felt that I would have been able to understand that connection in due time – if it was just my loneliness as a woman combined with genuine admiration for a great man, or if it was something like what you and I have. And in the latter case…I am still a queen of House Targaryen, Jorah, and I know it has been done before, by Kings of my House. As long as everybody willingly enters the union, and as long as it is no old, oppressive custom forced on people, there is no reason to oppose it.”

Jorah’s jaw just dropped. “My… my queen…”

“Didn’t you say you would do anything I ordered? It must not be a hard thing to do. Provided it is needed, of course, which is now out of question, and might never be up for discussion.”

Jorah’s voice was thick with emotion, tears still running down his cheekbones and pooling on his beard – despite a polygamous union being something he hadn’t thought about since his younger and wilder days -: “My Queen, my love… I will do anything that is asked of me…yes, even being **_one_** of your husbands, as long as you really want it and as long as it makes you happy. But please, let me be blunt one last time: you are grieving right now. I… do not want you to take a decision now. I couldn’t… I simply couldn’t. I am here by your side, and I am not going anywhere. No matter what you decide.”

Daenerys was aware she was grieving, especially for Viserion. She also knew how she had missed her knight, longed for him to be by her side, and how she had felt the unmistakable sparkles of desire rekindling in her body while looking at him at Dragonstone. She knew it was difficult to let him understand, because she was the only one who knew all these things, thoughts that were locked in her mind. So she recognised it was no use carrying on her convincing. She also loved him more for the self-sacrifice he was willing to do. For a man branded as a “slaver”, for a man who had resorted to spying, for a man who could have taken advantage of her long ago, he was, in fact, nobler than many others were.

“Will you at least stay with me, all the time?” she almost sobbed, grabbing his hands and pulling them to her chest. “I cannot bear staying alone…and you must have suffered for… Viserion too. You have seen them hatch and grow up…”

“Of course I will.” He hugged her tightly. “I have seen plenty of horrors in my life, wights and Walkers being among the most terrifying ones, but seeing your child… go…. like that… Gods, Daenerys. There must be a way to end that horror. And to avenge him.”

“As long as you are not planning another suicide mission. This time we have to strike in forces, and we need a strategy. I will not lose you. Understood?”

“Understood.”

A horn sounded.

Jorah and Daenerys looked at each other, for a few instant, and waited. _One blow_. One for friends, two for foes, three for…

Only one.

They made for the gate.

\--

A half-passed out Jon, almost frozen to death, slumped on a horse, passed through the gate. Davos, Beric, Jorah, and Daenerys made for the horse. Jorah, the strongest and tallest one, picked Jon up and brought him down the saddle. He recognized the state Jon was in, his experience as a Bear Islander being of utter importance. “Furs, and woollen cloaks! Hurry up! Hurry!” he barked, taking charge. He started tearing off Jon’s clothes forcefully, courtesy and modesty be damned. Jon’s only replies were a few moans, attempts at thanking the knight from a man who barely had any strength left, before blacking out completely. Jorah then muttered, “You **_little fool_**. I swear it, even if we save you from freezing, **I** might be the one who kills you for your stupid heroism.” He proceeded to massage him vigorously, in order to revive his blood circulation and to warm him up.

Daenerys replied: “The raven calling the crow black, Jorah?” amusement almost taking over worry. And once again she and Jorah communicated through stares, and acknowledged the three of them were all fools, and they all cared for each other, no matter to what degree. Daenerys noticed in a blur Jon had many ugly scars. She wondered briefly if Jorah had so many scars, too. _He must have them, I suppose. He is an experienced soldier and knight. And his disease…_ Then she felt ashamed she wanted to think about peeling a shirt off Jorah in a situation like that, with a man who could be dying in front of them.

Beric felt compelled to intervene too, to lighten up the atmosphere: “Ser Jorah, I advise you not to interfere with the Lord’s plans. Jon has been chosen for something. I am not so sure he would take your messing up lightly. And your sleeve sure picked up the fire from that bear very quickly… next time, you might not be so lucky, especially if there are dragons around.”

Daenerys’cheeks went red, her mind clouded. “ **Fire**? A **_bear_**? Jorah! Please tell me you had no way to steer away from those things! Please tell me you could not escape them. Please tell me you did – not – seek – out – a fight – with a bear – next to a fire!” she concluded, accompanying her articulating with some nervous hand movement.

Davos and Beric felt very embarrassed, for different reasons. Beric jumped in: “Ser Jorah was the one who saved our common friend Thoros from being devoured by a wight bear, killing him with his dragonglass dagger – a smart man, our weapons could not kill it, and he was the first who thought to use it on the wights too -… but I had already set the wight on fire, and Jorah’s sleeve, well, caught fire as well. He was able to put it off immediately, as you can see. Jorah has it in him, to risk his life for people, or for a specific reason: he has done it all the time while we were away. He even proposed we go for the Walkers and try to end it by obliterating them, thus ending the wights as well. The worst part of it is, young Jon apparently wanted to follow in his steps, very much. But at least Jon had the grace to say that going for the Night King was madness,,,”

Daenerys could not control herself, and slapped Jorah on his handsome face. “ **You!** ” and she cried once again. “You will never, ever move a single finger without me ordering you to move it! Have I made myself CLEAR? I swear it, I will feed you to my dragons if you disobey me this time!”

Beric and Davos could not get more embarrassed than that. Davos, a simple man, asked himself if Jon’s resurrection and that terrifying Army of the Dead would soon become the easiest things to grasp in the intricate situation he had gotten into.

Jorah stood there in silence. He was happy she loved him that much, relieved she was expressing herself without restrictions, and nevertheless confident she would soon understand that she would _have to let him swing his sword_ at the enemies and risk, if they wanted to give humanity a future. Without future, their love would only be a brief moment of short-lived joy before the doom. If it were for him, he might even choose that path. But why deny young people a longer, happier life?

A few Wildlings handed him furs, cloaks, and blankets and he wrapped him up in the warm clothes, as he had done many times long ago with his cousins, his people-at-arms, his people, when he was a Lord. “Warm water, and run all the fires we can run!”. He picked up the small young man in his arms, and made for the barracks.

Daenerys felt her rage dissipate, her love and admiration for Jorah seeping out multiplied thousandfold at the scene. Then, pondered a few things she had just seen or heard…and  she finally dared to ask Beric: “You… you spoke of a Lord. What is this Lord you are talking about, and why do you think Jon has been chosen? Is this the Lord of Light of Volantis?”

“Yes, it is, Your Grace.”

“And what makes you think he has been chosen?”

“Well, he and myself were the only ones he brought back to life. I would say…”

_What?_

“Ser Davos… does this mean your ‘knife in the heart’ speech was NOT a figure of speech? And Jon Snow actually took a knife in the heart?”

“No, it wasn’t. And yes, he did.”

_The ugly scars._

“And you came to me, asking for help against **_magic creatures_** , and you failed to give me the ultimate, tangible, easily available **_proof_** that there was magic… not just in my dragons and in my bond with them, but here in Westeros too?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

 _How could those men have been so stupid?_ “Were you ashamed of showing me a bare chest? Do you take me for a little girl who knows nothing, or who reddens and shies away? **Did you really choose a difficult mission beyond the Wall and a parlay with Cersei over showing me the scars of a resurrected man**?”

“Your Grace, I understand your rage. But please remember Cersei still hasn’t seen’em…”

“I do not care for Cersei. Not anymore. Besides, if we can destroy the Night King, we can destroy her too. And destroy our enemies **_we will_**. You must consider yourself lucky the _circumstances_ do not allow me to punish you for your stupidity, and for whatever it is that made you keep such an important thing from me, and for all that resulted from your choice. I lost one of my children… I could have lost Jorah, or even my life. Jon could have died, too… but he has brought it all upon himself, at least.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace, you can criticize Jon as much as you want, and me as well, but he is still the King in the North, and he hasn’t bent the knee. Same as he told you that you didn’t have any authority to allow him or forbid him to take part into this mission.”

 “ **That** is what I meant by ‘the circumstances’. Anyway, I don’t think there is a King in the North anymore, not really, and not even a Queen asking the King in the North to bend the knee. We would all be even greater fools than you and Jon have been if we continued to behave like that.”

Jorah put Jon on the bed in the chamber they had entered, and then spoke, as if he wanted to help the young king further: “My Queen, I know the Northern Lords – or at least I know their families and their values -, and I know what happened so far, because Jon told me. Jon being the King in the North is now necessary to keep them together, or they will start backing off, hoping to survive by letting others fight, or harbouring the hope that it was all just a legend, a story, a lie they were told in order to accept the new course of things.”

“I simply don’t think Jon and I will argue about titles and ranks anymore. I don’t care if he wants to be called ‘King in the North’, or ‘Prince of the Direwolves’, or ‘Lord of the Fools anymore. And I guess he will not care for whatever titles I will want to use either.”

Davos could not resist his instinct, and blurted out before he could think about the consequences: “I am quite sure we don’t even remember them all.”

Jorah felt he meant it well, and he recognized was a good lowborn man, but he also knew Daenerys. And he also wondered if he would ever dare to talk like that to a King, or a Lord instead of a young, beautiful Queen. He was quick to intervene, a thing that surprised himself – it was the second joking reply he managed to do in little more than two days: “I take it that was your acceptance of the title of ‘Lord of the Fools’ on Jon’s behalf, Ser Davos.”

Daenerys’ rage was stopped by Jorah’s semi-stern face during the joke. The handsome knight showed yet another incredible trait of him, and was once again thankful to have him at her side. “Is it, Ser Davos?” in her most queenly voice, a tremble betraying the amusement Jorah had caused.

“I think it might be, but if you’ll allow me, I have been a terrible Hand of the King as of late. I would rather wait for him to wake up and confirm if I understood it right.” And with a bow, he left the room.

Daenerys looked at Jon on the bed, all covered in furs and wool. She felt sorry, and sad, after all. She hoped he would survive, and wake up. No matter what had happened, she wanted to talk to him. And she wanted to talk to Jorah about talking to him, and she wanted Jorah and Jon to talk. Because one thing was clear: the three of them would soon be fighting side by side, with Beric, and Gendry, and all the others.

Beric left them too: “May the Lord of Light bless us all. I think I need to rest.”

Finally alone, Daenerys asked: “Jorah, do you think he will… wake up?”

“I think so, my Queen. He only had a few violet bruises. He will probably even escape frostbite.”

“ ** _Daenerys._** I am Daenerys to you, when we are alone.”

“My queen… Daenerys…”

His voice full of honey melted her. She loved how he said her name. No one ever said her name like that. Her name, and her Dothraki title. “Daenerys… or **_khaleesi_** ” she added with a smile and with an emphasis he had never heard so far from her. Jorah looked at her in surprise, and repeated: “ _Khaleesi_ ”, then felt a knot in his throat and a sudden heat when he recognized the meaning of her request upon noticing her darkening eyes.

But that wasn’t the moment to indulge in desire. “Daenerys… I think we should let Jon rest, and maybe check on him later.”

She smiled again at his good counsel. “You are right. We need to rest too. We have to sail to King’s Landing as soon as possible. We have to be fit, and we have to be prepared. Do you think we might sail tomorrow, provided we let Jon rest in a cabin on the ship?”

“I most certainly feel like it’s the only thing to do, no matter what. If he regains awareness soon, then he is safe. He does not seem wounded, probably only frozen and full of lumps. He is young, and strong. He can make it.” Then he spoke to Jon: “Don’t try to escape my rage. I will not fall for an act. You are not dying, and you deserve to hear a few words” hoping to reassure Daenerys, who – he was mistakenly convinced – still cared for the _Lord of the Fools_ more than she admitted.

“OUR rage. And stop hiding that you care for him, too. As you cared for Thoros just because youwere long-lost war comrades. And many other things I know about you.”

“I am not hiding anything, Daenerys. He is a fool, but I admire him. He served my father, too, and they shared a close bond of affection and loyalty. And he is far cleverer than his father.”

“You are biased, Jorah!” Daenerys almost laughed, and Jorah thought he was in heaven just by looking at her.

A knock on the door interrupted the bliss. “Come in!” ordered Daenerys.

“Your Grace, I thought you might want to read this raven.”

“From where?” They both feared it might be from Tyrion, bearing bad news, or even from King’s Landing.

“From Winterfell, Your Grace.”

 _Winterfell._   Daenerys reached for the parchment, the seal already broken.

_To the garrison of the North and of the Free Folk at Eastwatch_

_-_

_I have received your raven informing me about the mission our King has launched, and about the danger he and his retinue currently are in._

_I thank you for your loyalty, your common sense, and your spirit of initiative in sending a raven to your Lady, and not just to the Dragon Queen, who might or might not care for the threat from the North and for our men._

_You have served the North well, and I will make sure your good service is recognised and rewarded._

_Your Lady is now asking you to continue serving the North by sending her ravens as soon as information is available, no matter the source and the sort of bearings, no matter the number of ravens needed._

_The North needs his King._

_Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell_

“So, apparently the garrison just bent the knee to me, without telling me though, since they gave me a raven addressed to them and only them.” she joked. But then again that feeling… “Jorah… is it just me or this  means Jon never told his siblings and his people what he was heading into?”

“I think you are right.”

“ ** _Why_** is it that you all love this… this… do you take your pleasure in knowing your women are home, waiting for you, hoping that you return to them? I swear this makes me even sicker than the constant oppression of the common folk and of slaves.”

“And I guess my gracious queen will make it sure this injustice ends, too, at least in the rest of Westeros. On Bear Island, we train girls and boys all the same, and everybody fights”

Daenerys was surprised. “ ** _We_** _,_ Jorah?”

“Forgive me, Daenerys. I hadn’t seen the North in years… and I think many memories from the past have come back, despite all the horrors I witnessed. Jon Snow, the boy I saw many years ago as a little boy, now a man grown, then the snow, bears…” Jorah stopped himself before mentioning Longclaw. He did not want to add yet another loaded item to the discussion they soon had coming.

Daenerys remembered how they grew close by thinking of _home_ together. After losing Drogo she had to claim the throne herself instead of relying on someone else, in order to get home. So, in a way, the word _home_ was never uttered again between them, replaced by her family name, and by the Iron Throne. She remembered, though, and she understood. “Do you think you might want to ask your family for forgiveness, too? Jon sure seemed to have forgiven you.”

“That he did, my… love.” He steered away from the usual _my queen_ , although he wasn’t sure she wanted to be called in such an intimate way already. But she rewarded him with a smile, and he felt relieved. He reprised: “I don’t know. I don’t even know my cousin, the current Lady of Bear Island, for she was a baby when I fled. I think my father might have died forgiving me…”

“Jorah! You never told me… your father died! How… when…”

“I  first learned it from Tyrion shortly before we were enslaved. Killed in a riot, by his own men of the Night’s Watch, allegedly. And then I had very little time with you, as you might recall… After my return, we had more pressing matters to discuss. And here we are.”

“Did Jon give you… some more information?”

“No, Jon wasn’t with him when he died. He was with Samwell Tarly, though, so…”

Daenerys felt suddenly nervous. “Tarly?”

“Samwell Tarly, a Brother of the Night’s Watch, and a maester-in-training at the Citadel. The young novice was the one who dared to treat me and managed to cure me when no one else would. I owe my life to you, for ordering me to find a cure to return into your service, and to him, for performing his first surgery to give me a chance, just before I was about to end my life.”

Daenerys was horrified, and she didn’t know if it was more for the name she had heard or for the thing Jorah had just revealed to her – that he had been about to end his life. She decided to let him believe it was just for the image of him about to fall on his sword. “Oh, Jorah… please…” and she finally ushered him away from Jon’s chamber, and towards another chamber that was kept prepared for emergencies, both of them walking slowly side by side. “Tell me… tell me about your cure. This… this young man stopped you…” “Yes” he recalled “He came to my door as I was… writing my last letter, to you. I was almost finished. And then he stepped in: he had read of a possible cure, and he tried it. He tried it because my father saved his life so many times, and he wanted to show his gratitude by saving his son.”

Daenerys had to keep him talking, hoping to gather some information with him unknowing. “He seems like a great man, too. How did he cure you?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do. I want to.”

“ ** _Daenerys…_** ”

“Don’t make me issue an order.”

“He… I had my entire left arm, and almost my entire chest, stomach, and back covered with the greyscale.” Daenerys felt a different kind of emotion through her body and soul at the idea of his upper body exposed… she assumed the greyscale wasn’t there anymore, and she had noticed _how strong he looked_. She felt she wanted to witness his healing, very much, and very soon… but then she reminded herself what had brought them to that conversation.  Jorah resumed: “Sam removed the… greyscale by cutting it away, and then covered me in a healing ointment. It worked.”

“I hope you weren’t in pain, my bear, my brave and strong bear.” She stopped to stroke his cheek.

Jorah lied. “No, my queen. The only pain I felt was when I thought I would not being able to die for you, and I would die a meaningless death, in my cell, having failed to obey you”. He took her hands, and kissed her, with even more passion than when he had left for Eastwatch.

“And this Sam… Tarly, you said. Is he a friend of Jon, too?”

“Yes, he is. Sam didn’t have much time to talk about him, but I talked to Jon about him. They became friends almost immediately, and have been close ever since. Apparently his father forced him to join the Watch in order to make room for his younger brother, who is a paragon of a man: strong, tall, able with arms. Poor boy. I admit he was no knight material, but he certainly does not lack courage or wits. Anyway, Jon is sorry Sam had to leave for his training, but it was the right thing to do, for the Watch and for Sam himself.”

And there it was, the confirmation she had hoped to escape. Daenerys knew then she had to figure out a way of bringing them the news before it was too late. She might never meet this Sam, but she was here with Jorah and Jon, preparing to fight the dead together.

Not to mention she wanted to marry Jorah. As soon as his noble self would let him see that she truly wanted him, and was not just mourning asking him to fill a void in her life.

The image of Jon had already faded, although she gave herself some more time to understand what had happened. But Jorah… she hoped his endless devotion and his unconditional love would suffice to make him understand, maybe forgive her for burning prisoners alive.

A thin hope. _Maybe Sam wasn’t on good terms with his family. Jorah seemed to imply that about the father, at least._ Although, she also thought, there was still the problem of her execution method. She knew already from Tyrion’s reaction that Jorah would have something to say, and so would have Jon.

They reached her soon-to-be chambers, a quite spacious room, probably a former canteen, now furnished with a spacious bed covered in furs and comforters. Jorah kept the door open and her in. She observed him, and her suspicion was confirmed: he had not understood she wanted him _never to leave her side again_. She smiled, then, and she put one of her hands on his forearm, tenderly cueing him to enter her room. She knew what he had meant before: that he would not agree to anything binding between them before she “wasn’t sure”. But she merely wanted him to hold her while resting, while sleeping.

Jorah misunderstood Daenerys’ gesture for her not having grasped the meaning of his previous statement. At the same time, he felt in his soul and body the reaction to the allusion: “Daenerys… I… I… I told you before… I am not leaving you, but I cannot have you make choices you might regret…”

“Jorah, I am only asking you to hug me tight while I rest. I cannot bear to be alone. I cannot bear to leave you alone. Please. _Please._ ”

With that last heartfelt _please_ spoken in a vulnerable tone Jorah knew his resolve was lost. He also knew that she might be asking him to hug her tight while resting, but that would have still be them in a bed, together, in each other’s arms. Both shocked, and mourning.

He moved forward, and she took his hand. They made straight for the bed, where Daenerys let it go to tremove her boots, then her chain, and her coat, remaining in woollen trousers and a shirt. He wanted to remove his boots, too, after two days of having them on. He also took off the fur-and-leather cloak, and remained in a surcoat, a shirt, and – sadly – in a thick pair of trousers that wasn’t too comfortable. Daenerys, sitting beside him, noticed his dilemma.

“Jorah, please, make yourself comfortable. We all have to rest. Our mission hasn’t ended. We might be leaving for Dragonstone and King’s Landing tomorrow.”

“I am comfortable, don’t worry.”

“You are a terrible liar. You cannot lie to anybody with those eyes, Jorah.”

It was a sweet thing to say, and it made him feel she had, probably, finally truly forgiven him for his stint as a spy long ago. He pondered his choices, and then decided that his breeches should have been enough, so he took off his trousers, and was grateful to have a surcoat and a shirt beside the breeches. He knew he would probably have his morning wood, and that wasn’t exactly how he planned on seducing her for the first time.

Then he sat again, turned to her and caressed her cheek. She took his hand and brought it to her lips. Jorah felt incredible. “My bear.” He caught her hand, and reciprocated, kissing her own. “My queen, and the queen of my heart.” He contemplated her, and then tried to ask, still holding her hand, squeezing: “How do you _really_ feel? Have you pulled it all out?”

“About what?” she replied with an almost blank expression

“About losing Viserion. I have seen your tears, but I haven’t heard you addressing it. And I am not sure you have let out all tears.” His squeeze was stronger then.

A sigh. “It is the most painful thing… I have ever seen!” and she burst into tears, and sobs, her chest heaving like she hadn’t done before.

He opened his arms, and she threw her left arm around him, while she put her head and her right hand onto his chest, finally letting him squeeze her against him. “Such a majestic beast… going down like that, while we were watching. I… I… don’t know myself… if I will ever be able to remove the image from my mind, and the sadness,” said Jorah. “I remember the first time I saw it, along with its siblings, clinging to you. It was a wonder, and I was the first man to see dragons again.” Daenerys added her memories. “I heard them hatch, in that pyre, with a loud crack, and soon I found them, and picked them up, as any mother would do. And then, the morning after, first thing I saw you, pledging yourself to me. And afterwards Rakharo. We lost him, too, now that I think of it.”

“Life is a battle, the battle no one comes out alive of. We are lucky we made it so far. Viserion will be missed, but will avenged, too. As you avenged many, already. And I will be there with you, avenging him.”

“My love, I just hope I do not lose you, or Drogon, or Rhaegal.”

Jorah knew the stakes were high, and also knew age was not on his side. But he hoped he could give her what love, safety, and means for revenge he could give her.

As if she had sensed him, she moved a little, lifted her head, and let her hand reach for his cheek. Her movements were so smooth, and he was so enticed by her, that he barely noticed she had brought his head lower to meet her half way where she had raised her own, finally giving into the kiss she wished she had given him the day he had returned. Just a tender but passionate press of her lips on his, lingering there.

He wasn’t prepared for the feel of her lips, he thought.

He wasn’t prepared to feel her other hand touching his other cheek either. As an instinctive response, his own hands took Daenerys’ head, to angle their faces, lips meeting once again, almost savouring the other, maybe suckling tentatively a little.

And then it happened. He felt her tongue, trying to gain access to his mouth by licking his lips. His mouth opened, and invaded Daenerys’ one, tenderly and passionately. Slow and considerate caresses to her tongue, and his mind went to the many fantasies he had played in his mind… and stopped immediately.

He could not give in. He wanted her in every possible way a man can want a woman, but he could not give in that day.

He broke the kiss, not too abruptly, but he put some distance between them again. “Daenerys, that was a wonderful goodnight kiss” He saw the disappointment clearly. “Come on, let us rest.” He backed on the bed and stretched, pulling her with him so that he laid on his back, and she on her side, her head on his strong chest. Her beautiful hair was still braided, but a few silver strands were loose, and they were one of the most enchanting things he had ever seen. She cherished his muscles underneath her cheek, and his heat. Trying not to think of his attractive chest in the Dothraki Sea, in the Red Waste, in Qarth, she simply blessed his stern with a quick kiss, laid her head back down, and then closed her eyes, his beating heart singing her a lullaby.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going away inside = book!Jaime’s quote about his coping mechanism when Aerys burned people alive (AFFC).  
> Jorah reflecting about polygamy = I am referring to book!Jorah’s admission of having wild days in his youth (“Lynesse” speech, ACOK).  
> Oh yeah, I totally made Jorah tear off Jon’s clothes forcefully. And Jon moaned. And Jorah had to warm him up. I am a dirty mind. I hope you appreciated.  
> Oh, and the Bear Island bit. D&D like cartoonish girl power and ignore true proto-feminist bits from the books… so I rectified that!


	3. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awakenings are always necessary... some dread them, some others love them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for the many kudos and comments! I promise I will avenge S7 with this and with "The song of the bear who was a fool"!  
> If there are typos, mistakes, etc... feel free to tell me. I have only re-read this twice.

# Jon’s chamber, Eastwatch, the morning after.

He opened his eyes. He blinked a few times.

He was covered…he felt incredibly hot and sweaty. After a brief inspection, he noticed he had been wrapped up naked in furs and woollen blankets. There was also a fire running in the room, and a table with two jars, a cup, a dish with something that was probably stale bread, and something else.

He honestly asked himself if he had been brought back again. But then she remembered that Melisandre had been banished, and that Thoros had died. His desperate ride and Uncle Benjen’s sacrifice came back to him. He was definitely just a survivor.

 _Who in Seven Hells has wrapped me up tight like this?_ Jon swore mentally while trying to free himself, almost suffocating. Then again, he understood that whoever had done that, had tried to keep him alive.

 _Davos? Tormund? Maybe even beautiful queen Daenerys? Nah, she is beautiful, and is kinder than she usually lets know, but I cannot see her royal self doing something like that._ He felt something twitching between his legs at the image of her touching his naked body, and thus understood he was probably doing more than fine.

The same could not be told of the poor dragon whose death he had caused with his heroic stance.

He stood up despite the pain, wanting to drink something: the sweating had gone for a while and he felt dreadful. He had to drag himself to the table.

He found some water (or, better, melted snow – how fitting! - ), some warm mulled wine, the stale bread he had glimpsed, and a few scrolls of parchment.

After sipping some water and some wine, he picked up the parchments, and made it back to the bed to read them.

The first one was from Winterfell.

A raven from Sansa, who – there was no doubt about it – was _pissed_. Apparently, some northern soldier had thought it wiser to inform not just Daenerys – as he had told Gendry – but also Sansa. A sudden attack of headache possessed him.

He thought that the man responsible for writing to Sansa had done something nobody had told him to do. But he hadn’t defied orders either. And the Lady of Winterfell apparently endorsed the action.

As if his situation wasn’t complicated enough… he had already decided his next move would be granting Daenerys her title of Queen in order to make their alliance finally possible. Now that he had seen her come to rescue them risking her life and lose one of her children for it, he felt like she would be a worthy queen. But telling the news to the Northern lords and his sister would not be an easy task. Yes, he didn’t plan on _bending the knee officially_ , but to most people the temporary shelving of his kingly title would have sounded like bending the knee. Especially to those Lords who spat out Daenerys’ name with hate when they had to discuss asking for her help.

On top of all this, he had his Lady Regent and beloved sister furious, in his home, the home he hadn’t seen in moons. He could see her in front of him, calling him off on every single thing he had done wrong, probably with Arya’s help. Including the tragedy he had just caused. Because he _knew_ she would learn of it: he might have hoped to manage to  keep all of his comrades well away from her, but hiding the fact that a queen with three dragons now had only two was a difficult task, and it was easy to find . He was no liar, Sansa and Arya would have asked about the missing dragon…

No chance in Seven Hells. Sansa would soon hear all of it. So, she had better hear of it from him.

Well, at least, this time he was aware someone was pissed at him. He didn’t care much for another stabbing.

He picked up another one.

**_Dear Jon Snow,_ **

**_We are so glad you made it back. It must have been a miracle, but then again Beric and his Lord of Light believe you are one of the chosen ones. I might be next in line to believe it, judging by what I have seen._ **

**_However, the situation we find ourselves in is dire. We will have to discuss important matters as soon as you are awake. Then we will sail for Dragonstone. Jorah assures you will be fine as soon as you wake up and have your rest on a cabin on the ship._ **

**_In addition, you should write to your sister as soon as possible. I would never have thought you would leave for a dangerous mission without informing your family, your regent, and your people._ **

**_Daenerys Targaryen_ **

_She has signed without her titles. Not even ‘Queen’._ Did something change on her side as well? And she was obviously siding with his sister. On the other hand, he started suspecting who had wrapped him up like a baby. _Jorah._ He must have known what to do with a half-frozen man, as a Bear Islander. He felt _strange_ at the idea that the man had probably stripped him naked himself.

Stripped him _naked_.

With a deep scar on his heart.

_“Judging by what I have seen”._

_Oh, oh._

He feared the last scroll.

The third one was by the man himself.

**_Jon,_ **

**_I think you should be fine soon, although you were badly bruised, and I fear you might be in pain for a while, although you should have escaped frostbite. Be sure to drink some warm mulled wine and rest. We have to sail back soon: you will agree it’s now mandatory we start planning for the real war._ **

**_On a different note, please talk to Daenerys soon. And write to your sister. She might have never heard from you again, I hope you realise that._ **

**_Jorah_ **

Jon’s headache worsened.

\--

After a while, as he was dozing again, he heard knocking.

“Come in!”

And here she was, Daenerys Stormborn in her beauty and glory, followed by Jorah. They both had reddened eyes and dark circles, but they also smiled shyly. A soldier appeared too, with a tray with some more refreshments.

Jorah sat by the table, and Daenerys by his bed.

“Jon Snow.”

He could not deny she was beautiful even in grief, and she had a remarkable way of saying her name. But her expression was strange. He could not read her.

“Daenerys Targaryen.”

In the background, Jorah had a somewhat worried face.

“I guess long forewords make no sense. Jon, I _know_ now, I have seen all of it. We have to fight together. I don’t care about our titles. I don’t care about Dragonstone. We have to save Westeros, and I want to avenge my child.”

“I am so sorry, Daenerys.”

She said nothing. _Bad sign._

“I am really sorry” he tried again.

“You know, I think you should be.” She said, trembling for the grief, but also unmistakably pissed.

Her harsh statement embarrassed even Jorah. He felt the need to intervene:  “Jon, I think Her Grace would like to understand why you continued advancing towards the wights to engage them - it seemed to me - **_all_** in combat instead of falling back as soon as possible.”

Daenerys felt tears welling again. “We were waiting for you. Only for you. He would have missed, maybe not even tried…“

“I thought the mission was more important. Keeping you safe.”

Jorah intervened once again. “The mission implied also going back alive. As long as the wight had been loaded, you should have mounted Drogon too. There is no excuse for your behaviour, and I am talking as Lord Commander of Daenerys Targaryen’s Queensguard and war veteran here. Anyway, it’s not why are here now. Just don’t let it happen again. The next time, it will be war. Our armies against theirs. Plans, orders.”

Daenerys’ rage awakened again: “The mission was stupid. All of it. You had something you could have told me, and shown me, instead of pursuing this stupid idea. You hid something to me all of this time. **A _knife to the heart_** _?_ ”

He had it coming. He had seen it coming. “It still did not show you the Dead and the Walkers. Now you have seen them, you said it yourself.”

“But I might have trusted you if you had told me and showed me, and all this madness would not have taken place.”

“You brought dragons back to life! And you still didn’t believe me about ice creatures and fighting corpses!”

Jorah stopped the confrontation: “Arguing now is useless. What’s done, is done.”

Daenerys, exhaling and recognising her knight’s annoyingly honest pragmatism she loved, continued: “Jorah is right. I actually came here only to tell you the things I said at the beginning, that is… I will fight with you. I don’t care who is who. We will deal with the future when the future is here. You don’t have to bend the knee, no one has.”

Silence. Understanding.

Jon concluded: “The way it looks, this is the only way to have a future.”

Jorah reprised: “So, Jon, as soon as your clothes have dried, we are sailing back south. For your safety, I will bring you to the ship so that you don’t have to endure the walk. Wait for me.”

_Embarrassing._

“We will also use most of our time on the ship to start planning the war. Daenerys and I agreed that Dragonstone should be mined as much as possible, since there is the risk that we lose it to Cersei if she is not convinced  to accept the truce and join us north – a possibility we have to consider -. We will all move to the North and start adjusting weapons, building trenches, gathering armies, burning all the bodies that have been buried so far, and evacuating villages and keeps not so far from the Wall. Only fighters with experience and the right weapons will man the Wall and the settlements nearby. We need the rest of the Northerners to help establishing a possible frontline behind the Wall.” Jorah was taking charge.

“I will be glad to help with that.”

Jorah also had a more personal request: “I would like to be able to ask the North and my cousin for forgiveness, beyond Robert’s pardon. I want to fight side by side with them without any cause of disagreement, and I also want to apologise to my cousin for all she had to endure because of someone she couldn’t even remember. My father, my aunt and my other cousins have gone to the grave before I could tell them how sorry I am. I don’t want death to prevent me from asking for forgiveness once more.”

“I think I will inform Sansa immediately of your wish.”

“You have many things to tell Lady Sansa, it seems. These should be enough” And handed him some parchments, a quill and an inkpot.

Jorah knew then he had completed his duties, and wanted Daenerys to talk to Jon alone. Their awakening had been sweet and tender, full of hugs, caresses, kisses, tender words, and dear memories of their best moments as queen and advisor, as well as a few moments to let out their grief over Viserion. Afterwards, they had exchanged a few preliminary words about her strategy for the war to come. The wonderful morning with her was precisely why she wanted his queen to have some time to ponder her connection to Jon, no matter if the current conversation shed a different light on Daenerys and Jon’s relationship as opposed to a few of their interactions on Dragonstone.

“I will leave you alone and give orders to prepare to sail soon. Expect me to be back in an hour or two to bring you to your cabin.”

-

 “So, Jorah has taken charge, hasn’t he?” said Jon, trying to elicit a reaction from Daenerys.

“He is my oldest friend and advisor. And, as he said, has a wealth of experience as a war veteran.”

“How long have you known each other?”

“About five to six years, I’d reckon.”

“And… you look at each other _that way_?”

Daenerys smiled: “What way?”

“You know.”

“Some say I cast a few glances at you too” she grinned.

“Some told me I did the same. One cannot ignore your beauty, Daenerys, not even when you actually come off more as scary than beautiful.” Jon reddened.

“You are handsome too, Jon. Little, but handsome.”

“You mean ‘not as tall as Jorah’, I suppose.”

They both laughed.

“But I guess there is more to Jorah than his height. I would be dishonest if I said I didn’t like him. He was friendly to everybody, saved many lives including mine, is a good fighter, and a good man. I remember he sold those slaves because his wife had spent all of the family’s money. He must have been desperate, I reckon. Then I understand he has served you well all these years. You mentioned… you endured dire things. Did he help you out of them?”

“He helped me, always, from the very beginning.” Daenerys felt tears well in her eyes, remembering his wedding gift in Pentos and his first piece of advice ever, all of a sudden hit by renewed emotions.

“I am sorry he refused to take his sword back. Although I should probably give it back to Lyanna, not to him.”

“His… sword?”

He pointed at Longclaw, hanging from the bedpost. “My Valyrian steel sword, Longclaw. It was the Mormonts’ heirloom. They possessed it for centuries. Jorah left it on Bear Island when he fled from my father, ashamed of what he had done. I offered it back to him, but he refused.”

“How did… oh, his father. You served with him, I remember.”

“Yes, Lord Commander Mormont. He gave it to me. Ironically, it was because I saved him from a wight. His sister had sent the sword to the Wall, in anger and pain for what Jorah had done, to keep bitter memories away.”

Daenerys pondered his words for a while, almost hearing Jorah and Tyrion in her mind begging her to think about things. “You need a sword, especially a Valyrian steel sword, since it kills these Walkers. I am not so sure about how I feel about… this matter, and I probably should not wade into it. I guess you have the key to handle the situation. But I do feel like my own Lord Commander should have a Valyrian steel sword.”

“It’s not so easy to get your hands on one, Daenerys.”

“I will try. Let me know if you have any ideas.”

“I will.”

“So, do you think we will be able to be friends and allies?”

“I promise I will try to be less scary and less beautiful, Jon Snow.”

“I promise I will stay little, Daenerys Targaryen.”. They laughed.

“I will be honest, since it seems like it’s the right moment. I would be terrified to be your husband” reprised Jon.

Daenerys was surprised and amused at the same time. And then she understood: “I would be terrified if I weren’t married to Jorah. So, there, you are the first to know what’s going on. My first gesture of friendship towards you. You might even become part of the family, since I have lost everybody, and Jorah isn’t far behind, and we all get along well.” She smiled anew.

“And here I thought I would be up for dangerous missions and for a war. A wedding for love. A sign of hope. Provided my sister does not kill me in your stead, of course.”

“Your sister can be bribed, I hope? I was thinking Jorah might love to get married in the North…”

“I will let you know, Daenerys.”

## Daenerys’ cabin, several hours later

Jorah and his queen, after loading the ship, sailing, and discussing a few matters with Davos and Jon, reached Daenerys’ cabin on the ship that evening. Or, as he suspected might be the case after their rest together at Eastwatch, after the conversation he witnessed with Jon and their cooler but friendlier attitude afterwards, and after noticing that the ship wasn’t exactly a bulk carrier, reached _their cabin_.

He waited for Daenerys to confirm it.

Daenerys noticed. “Jorah, will you ever feel more relaxed about us?”

“It’s just that… I have disappointed you so many times, Daenerys. It’s difficult to think it’s all right and we are…”

“… together, we are together, my bear, my love.” She gazed at him intensely. “Jon told me a few interesting things about you. That you left him a Valyrian steel that used to belong to your family. You never told me about that.”

“It pained me so, Daenerys.”

“I understand now. But will you talk about it one day? I am your woman, I would like to hear it from you, not from Jon Snow…”

“Daenerys… think about it… Gods… my wife… the woman… I loved Lynesse, you know. We had no money left. I chose to sell two poachers instead of giving them the choice… that would be beheading or the Wall… and someone must have noticed. I fled Ned Stark’s justice… I hoped Lynesse and I would be happy in exile, and I hoped… she would learn how to live more… within our means.”

It pained him to speak of it. “So you left the sword to your family,” she said softly.

“Yes. I felt so ashamed. I know the memory of Ned Stark angers me, because… I would have expected him to at least talk to me and understand me. Instead, he issued my sentence immediately. I… am sorry…”

“Jon understands. And I think your father must have forgiven you, in his heart, or Jon would have perceived the whole story in a different way. Don’t you think?”

“I hope so. But I never heard it from him. And he never heard me apologise.”

She grabbed his hand: “My love, please. Don’t torment yourself over this. I have forgiven you for spying for Robert, Jon seems to have forgiven you for what you did in the North. You want to ask for forgiveness to your cousin and to the other Northerners. You deserve to be forgiven. I know you. We all do our mistakes, I suppose…” she tried to shove away the thought of the Tarlys.

“I will try.” He looked at her with gratitude, bitterness and sadness still in him nevertheless.

“You know, I remembered while talking to Jon your first piece of advice. You wanted to comfort me after my wedding to Drogo. You… must have seen me in pain. And that was only your first time you did that. I cannot see you in pain either.”

“My love, I brought up my pain on me myself. You, on the other hand, were... sold.”

“It’s all in the past. Now I am here with you.”

“And I hope it makes you happy.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I knew it already how much I needed you by my side, and I wouldn’t share this moment with anybody else – and I am surer of it now. Thanks to a chat I had with a certain knight, and one I had with a certain king.”

Jorah smiled. “Now I am curious.”

“To hear what? He finds me beautiful but crazy. And I find him handsome but… he lacks so many things I want.”

“He told you you are…”

“He said he is scared by me sometimes, of course, but I think he meant to tell me I am crazy”.

Jorah was amused. “Now, this might explain why he wanted so desperately to die… I think he does not recognize dangers. I wonder how he survived ranging with my father and living with the Wildlings.”

They laughed, and felt again their closeness.

Daenerys stood on her toes, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. They kissed long, and many times. He stroked her back, and her hair, and she ventured amidst his hair with her finger too. She also wanted to kiss his cheekbones, and his beard. He reciprocated by blessing her nose and her forehead with kisses.

After a few other kisses, Daenerys felt the need to feel his muscles, and ventured down his back. His hard body and twitching muscles underneath her palms sparked her desire for him immediately.

Jorah noticed she had definitely shifted from tender passion to a more heated research of closeness, but could not bring himself to break the kisses to her mouth, her jaw, and her neck.

But then Daenerys openly rubbed her nipples against him, and grazed his arse, and the signs were clear.

He broke the kiss and backed a little. “Daenerys… you will be the death of me if you do that…”

“Stop being so chivalrous. I know you are still worried for me, and you care for me, but I love you and you love me.”

“Daenerys, I just… I wanted our first night together to be out of passion… not out of grief… and I don’t know how you really feel right now. It is all still so fresh and recent…”

“Do you think this is the only time we will make love, Jorah?” she said that with a fire in her eyes that not even the pyre that gave her the dragons could have matched. And Jorah could only react by picking her up, slamming her against the cabin wall, grabbing her things and lifting them, and kiss her deeply, while putting her legs around him to wrap his waist and letting their bodies touch.  She not only responded to the languid and demanding caresses of his lips and his tongue, but also stroke herself against him, thus feeling his hardening cock against her mound and her clit. Their heads were spinning. His hands, which were holding her hands, went in her hair and tried to undo her braids – Jorah desired to see her hair wildly waving and bouncing while he was moving inside of her.

Her hands unwrapped themselves from behind his neck, and went to unclasp his cloak – their last controlled movement for that evening. Then she continued to unlace and unbutton frantically everything that covered his chest. She wanted to feel him as soon as possible, to see and touch the muscles that had served her for years, to see his scars.

Her hands doing that made Jorah flare up. He unclasped her chain, her dress coat, and undid her shirt.

Their hands crossing between sighs and trembling, they soon were naked from the waist up. They stopped to admire each other, almost more in awe than in passion. For Daenerys, it was next to a first. She had glimpsed something of him, but now she had her bear, with his muscles built by armour, weapons and work, in front of her, for her. She noticed his scars: a few of them were unknown, some of them reminded her of his wounds suffered in his service, and a fresh and large pattern told her that was the signs of the disease that had almost stolen him away from him. Even his gorgeous chest hair, that used to pop up from his shirt in Essos, had thinned, probably due to the greyscale. She went nearer to him, moving softly, and started caressing his chest and his biceps, pressing a kiss on his stern, while he embraced her.

The low, almost guttural moan he left out made her even wetter than she already was. The kiss was not enough anymore, and she let out her tongue, instinctively, tracing his stern and his chest muscles, then going up again towards his neck, eliciting new moans until she nipped at his neck on the left side, almost biting him.

“Ohhh…” he sighed “…Daenerys…” he moaned.

She kissed him around his neck, then ordered him “Now call me _the other word_ ” and bit his neck on the other side.

“Khaleesi…” was his moan, that almost made her peak.

Then she was slammed against the wall again, his mouth returning the favour, kissing and biting her neck, her neck bone, then fucking her mouth with his tongue, and alternating the stimulations, all the while removing her trousers. When her trousers and underwear went down to her ankles, he traced a trail of kisses and licks down to her breasts, while moving a hand to caress her on the thighs, between her legs, only teasing.

His hands then cupped her breasts. He looked into her eyes with an ardour she had never seen before. He returned to kissing her breasts, then began licking them too, careful to notice what stimulations she preferred. She thought she would peak right there: she was so close, his wet and warm mouth, his skilled tongue, and his scratchy beard riving her mad. Then he added some sucking, and her sighs and moans turned to screams, to the scream of her pleasure. “Joraaaahh!”. But Jorah didn’t have enough, and tightened his hold on her breasts, and started alternating between licking and sucking, between right and left breast. She lost count of the waves of pleasures that hit her, and lost trace of the words she screamed, but she screamed.

And every scream was a wave that went through Jorah’s body and made his cock harder and harder.

He abandoned her teats to trace another trail of kisses down her belly, stepping behind a little to kneel. His kisses stopped at the mound, where her blonde hair was. His hands moved her thighs apart and grazed teasingly over her lower lips.

He looked into her eyes again. He was looking forward to giving her the most beautiful form of pleasure, to making her wet for him, and she almost fainted from the sensation that seeing him on his knees, down there, with that stare, with his handsome face, awakened in her.

His hands parted her outer lower lips gingerly, and she felt first his lips kissing them, then kissing her inner lips, then kissing her clit.

She moaned, but then she had to tell him: “Don’t… tease me… need you to… I need it…”

She swore she felt him smiling while he gave a few last kisses, and finally explored all of her folds with the tip of his tongue, searching for her most ardent responses.

And finally he put the tip of his tongue on her clit. He lapped once, then lapped twice, then started lapping her continuously, alternating movements and changing the pressure applied, observing her with his incredible eyes to convey how much he loved doing that and to capture her preferences. “Ohhhhhh” she moaned “Jo…rah, please… yeah, not so much pressure, I prefer… YES, yes, this way… OOOH, alternate… licking…. And then a little bit of… ooh… circular licking…please ” and she felt him smiling satisfied, again, before drowning in the hot, wet, and constantly waving pleasure of his tongue, shuddering on her face a few times, moaning and screaming without control, thanking Joran’s hand and the wall for the support. After one of her shudders, he licked her inner lips, first tracing them, then… penetrating her with his hard tongue. “Oooohh…” not only for the physical pleasure his skills gave her, but also for the wild, dirty and daring thing he did. He fucked her for a few strokes with his tongue, an extremely wicked look on his face that made her even hornier and made her think that she had never really known much about fire until that moment. Then he went back with the tongue to her clit, beginning his previous practice anew. And suddenly his fingers were inside her. She was so wet that they reached her depths with ease. “Aaaaahhh… Jorah…” Jorah was finger-fucking her with two fingers, desperate to find new right stimulations, moving up and down, and exploring a little. Daenerys’ vocal appreciation and indications, besides keeping him afire, helped him find the right movement again: fingers stiffened and slightly curled, deep and regular strokes. It didn’t take long until she shuddered, twice, and her wetness multiplied. Her screams had probably alerted all the ships in several miles.

But his mouth and fingers were not enough anymore. She put her hand on his head, on his beautiful ginger hair, and told him, breathing heavily: “Jorah, I need you.”

With a last languid kiss he backed a little, undid her boots, and removed boots and trousers, then stood up and picked her up. He almost threw her on the bed, his mind drowning in passion, and she didn’t mind, reciprocating the feeling. He removed her socks and then straightened up, but by then Daenerys had sat up, and was quick enough to start unbuckling his sword belt, fumbling a little. He helped her. Then she requested: “Let me unlace your trousers and breeches. Please”, still sighing. Her hands there were incredible, and so was the way she pulled everything down, decidedly and passionately.

Before he could proceed to kick off trousers, breeches, and boots, she had him in her hand. Rock hard and velvety, she loved feeling him. And he almost spilled on her face from the surprise and the pleasure…

He put his hand on hers. “Daenerys… I want to be inside of you, not…”

“Please, Jorah, let me feel you a little.”

“I… it has been a long time…”

“Please. Just a little bit.”

He sighed. “Follow my instructions, if I give you any.” And he closed his eyes, breathing in.

She stroke him twice, tenderly, then licked him from the hair to the tip. He moaned very loudly. And then she swallowed him fully, letting him feel her lips while going down, and her tongue too going up. “Aaahhh… No, Daenerys, leave it, stop it!” he said, despite the uncontrollable reaction of putting his hand on her head. He thought he would go mad from the pleasure, and finish in her mouth, but she obeyed, and looked up at him, her hands on his thighs. He stepped back slightly to finally kick off his last clothes, then grabbed her thighs and leaned her on the bed. Then he kneeled on the bed, and positioned himself between her legs, to kiss and lick her again.

Some lapping first, and then he wanted to inflame her further, to reciprocate the flame of love and passion she had ignited in him, and decided to use his words: “I want you to be incredibly wet, and begging for me, and fully satisfied, my love. This night, as all the nights we have before us.” And he resumed licking, and finger-fucking her. “Jorah… you are… incredible. Aaah… but I want to… taste you better… soon… oooh… like you do to me…. So hard and velvety… I can’t wait… for you” After eliciting a shudder and hearing her words, words that were like fucking each other mentally, he knew he had to finally enter her. He hoped the brief pause after feeling her mouth, and his huge experience with women, were enough to make him able to control himself.

He moved up, and took himself in the hand, then stroke her folds with his tip, feeling her for the first time and teasing her. Her inner lips, her clit, her wetness. Then he resumed looking into her eyes, her shape impressed in his mind and her taste on his lips and beards and in his mouth. He bent slightly towards her as much as his position allowed him, and reached for her hand to grasp it and hold it at her shoulder’s height. She opened her legs wide, and bent her knees.

He entered her like that, sliding in her effortlessly, eyes locked, holding one hand. The moans and the bliss came from both of them in unison.

He bowed over her, his hands supporting him, and slid balls deep in her. Eyes still locked. Daenerys thought she might come just because of that. Jorah knew he had to close his eyes for a while and try to regain control.

“Daenerys, my love, don’t move.”

Daenerys understood. “I love even having you inside of me… So hard… My love.” And it was true: long, broad enough, hardened by his love and passion, velvety like the moss on Bear Island – or as she imagined it would be.

 _Gods._ “Daenerys…please… wait…” If she wanted to fuck him mentally as well as physically, she had found the right match for her. He had enough experience and passion to have her screaming for hours, once past the first time.

After a few instants of steading and breathing in, he leaned on his elbows, and pulled almost out just to push it in again, rolling his hips to make the movement controlled, deep, and to stroke her clit. He repeated a few times, and felt reassured, and Daenerys _finally_ felt him fucking her, hard and hot in her wetness. She let him find the right rhythm for him to last, just adding a few waving movements to be able to feel him better, and stroking his biceps, his back, and his shoulders. He kept a slow and controlled rhythm for a while, then sped up for a while to stop. Both were sighing, moaning, exchanging looks, and a few languid kisses. When she felt him speeding up, she felt the need to grab his back between shoulders and shoulder blades, and so he grabbed her hips in response. Both looking for the right angle, it slowed them down a little, just to give them the right position to speed up again.

Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, slightly above his waist, and soon they had found the right angle for her.

“Daenerys…” She had tightened her grip on him a little and shivered and sighed.

“Ooh, yes, Jorah”.

He embraced her by putting his arms under her thighs and leaning on her, his mouth searching for hers, their tongues mirroring their more intimate contact. And he started fucking her deeper, and harder. Her moans and screams were incredible. His strokes were bliss, and so was his groin rubbing her clit, his body rubbing on hers.

He closed his eyes again. He wanted to witness another one of her peaks, this time on his cock. He listened to her, and fucked her, and there it was. First a pressure building in her belly, then heat on her cheeks, his cock and his body being her everything. Then she shuddered and screamed, “JORAAAAHHH!”, and he felt her pleasure on his cock, her inside vibrating and pulsating, her wetness reaching his balls.

“Daenerys… Gods…” he slowed down hoping not to finish too soon. But she had other plans. “No, Jorah… we will have… other occasions… to try everything… to make it longer…I trust you… but… I… need you now. Fuck me hard now, Jorah.” She said, still drowning in him and in pleasure, and enticed by his passionate form.

That was it. “You want me to fuck you hard?” he answered with his seducing lower voice. He sat up on his knees, picked her up, and moved her up staying inside of her. He leaned her against the headboard and the wall, pillows under her arse and behind her back, then blocking her between his lap and the headboard, always grabbing her hips. She hugged him tightly around his shoulders, wanting to feel his muscles beneath her hands.

And he started fucking her hard, deep strokes, and their bodies rubbing each other hard.

He kept his eyes closed for a while, trying to last a little longer nonetheless, but it had been a long time, it was the woman he loved, all wet and moaning, and he was fucking her hard. And she loved feeling him like that. “Is it…hard enough _, khaleesi_?” His strokes in her wetness resonated in her soaked hole as well as on the wall. “I bet you like it…Daenerys… can you hear how wet you are?” Their fucking resonated once again. “I can feel it… you are dripping… but I can hear it too…”

It was like multiplying the effect of his strokes for her.

“Aaahhh….” She would be peaking again soon.

“Aaagghh…” Jorah was making noises that sounded more animalistic than human. He knew he was nearing the point of no return. He locked eyes with her again, fucking her relentlessly, their moans and screams and noises the most beautiful symphony for their love and passion.

And she lost control again, shortly before feeling him explode inside her. Maybe they were kissing, maybe it was just their tongues meeting during screams, maybe not, but she shuddered again, then he emptied himself inside of her, deep, and she felt the sticky heat of his seed enhancing her pleasure. She arched her lower back to keep him deep and to keep him next to her.

A few instants later, still pleasurable sensations ongoing where they were still joined and on their skin and nipples, they finally regained their vision, the blur of passion slowly fading. Jorah raised his hands to hug her tightly and to kiss her properly. One of the sweetest kisses they both had experienced, born of love and consumed passion, and trust.

Then he leaned his forehead on hers. “I love you. I hope I could at least show you a little what I feel for you”. He stroked her with his still sweaty hands.

“I love you. I think you have shown, but I don’t want you stopping showing me. Ever.”

“We should lie down a little, maybe.”

“But… wait…”

“Didn’t you say we will have many occasions?” he smiled.

“Yes, I did, but… I love this” she loved simply feeling him. She loved feeling him going flaccid, and his seed still inside her, and so she told him.

He smiled again, lowered his arms to keep their hips joined. “I cannot grant it will work. Although if you keep talking like that I might be hard again soon, my love, and my wild lover.”

She returned his smile, and made him even happier.

As he imagined, moving let him slide out, but he kept her against him, lifted the sheets, and hugged her tightly, leaning on their sides.

They soon fell asleep after exchanging a few caresses and tender words, Daenerys demanded they resumed the position of the previous day, he on his back and she on her side, leaning against him, using his pectorals as a pillow: she loved sleeping on his chest, so strong, and male, and with his heart sounding so reassuring; he loved seeing her abandoned like that, with her silver strands on his chest.

The morning after, Daenerys had the most beautiful awakening she could ever have. Her man, naked, still asleep, so handsome. His cock, hardening against her leg.

She enjoyed the feel and the view for a while, then moved softly to wake him up like she desired.

She licked his shaft from the base to the tip, then took it into her mouth, and started pleasuring him with her mouth and her hand.

Jorah could not believe it: it had been years since he had such an awakening – Lynesse was passionate too, at least – but this was his beautiful queen. And her silver hair moving in unison with her head… her looking up to him with her violet eyes…

He moaned with a very low voice, still raw from the sleep. “Daenerys… Gods…” His hand went to her head. She said, briefly continuing with her hand only, “You tempt me even when you sleep” to resume her mouth work immediately after. She loved feeling him like that. She also felt aroused by the mixed taste of him and of her he still had on him.

“Ohhh… but remember, there must be enough for you too.”

She smiled on his cock, and continued for a while. When she stopped and climbed up to him, he grabbed her hips to lean her back on the mattress, kiss her deeply, pleasure her with his mouth in all her favourite spots on her teats and folds, and then made love to her for long, exploring all possibilities their position with her beneath him could offer. And she helped him willingly, reciprocating the angling, the rolling of the hips, changing their embraces, and grips; exploring tender lovemaking and passion, to finish with the mutual desire of a hard pounding into the mattress.

## Jon’s cabin

In a cabin nearby, Jon woke up from a dream. He had been in the Godswood at Winterfell, and one of the red leaves had suddenly turned into a fire. The fire had then kissed him, enveloping him. _It must be my memory… lovers being loud… I must have remembered Ygritte… I must have thought of having her at Winterfell._

_\--_

_Seven Hells, it will be a long sail if they keep being this loud._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Being romantic and devoted is beautiful, but making passionate love to the woman you love so romantically and devotedly is better!  
> Jon is taking notes. Might be useful soon ;-)


	4. The House of the Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visions, war plans, love, and growing up.  
> Feat. corny humour by people in love :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, please tell me if there are typos, unclear formulations and stuff.

## Daenerys and Jorah’s cabin

Still panting a little, his skin glistening with sweat, Jorah took his time watching Daenerys, adoring her: her hair was spread on the pillow and on the mattress, her cheeks flushed, her expression relaxed. Jorah was amazed to be able to look at her like this, but he was even more amazed by seeing _her_ looking at him like that.

Still panting a little, her skin glistening with sweat, Daenerys took her time watching him, adoring him: he had those piercing blue eyes, a slightly lopsided and very tender satisfied smile making his perfect cheekbones even more evident, his usual stubble almost a beard, making him sexier than ever.

They were still joined, she beneath him, exchanging tender gazes and caresses. Jorah loved her long silvery strands, and wanted to feel them between his fingers; Daenerys discovered Jorah’s strawberry blonde curls were incredibly soft and satin-like, and felt an incredible pleasure caressing his head while combing him. Jorah suddenly missed her lips, and then her tongue too, and bent for a kiss: a quick, but felt kiss. She appreciated the flexing of his biceps and pectorals.

 “One would never want to leave this cabin. Wouldn’t you, Daenerys?” finally spoke Jorah, almost murmuring. His incredible voice, low and full of adoration sent shivers down her spine, especially when he said her name. He had a unique way of saying her full name, or khaleesi, or princess.

“No, you are right, I definitely _would_ not. It is so beautiful here, like this, with you.” She caressed his cheek, and he leaned into her hand.

Jorah smiled remembering a discussion, long ago. “Do you remember when we argued because you wanted to leave the shelter in Qarth and go out to find your dragons, while I insisted we take the ship to Astapor, choosing safety over your baby dragons? I had to explain to you that I was just being logical and suggesting the most logical move to get you out of danger and towards the Iron Throne. And that nevertheless I would serve you no matter what you asked of me. How things have changed…”

“You _are still_ the logical, pragmatic and competent advisor” Daenerys replied with admiration and with some tender mocking.

“Aye, and you will never get rid of that” he joked. “But **_you_** seem to at least take into consideration the existence of something outside your queenly role. You just admitted you thought for an instant to stay here with me, or a little part of you wished to. A corner of you is tempted.” He was tenderly mocking her, and didn’t care to hide it.

“I think it’s quite normal to feel like this. Up until now, I only had a name, a heritage, a claim to occupy my thoughts. Now I have found something else. You might be my advisor and my knight, but you are also my friend and my lover, and I cannot avoid but wonder sometimes what our life could be if we could just be a man and a woman.”

“Daenerys, my love, I would love for us to stay like this for the entire journey. Here, in this bed, talking and making love and sleeping.” They exchanged another kiss and a caress. “But I even if you decided to give up any claim and simply be a woman, **_my_** woman, we couldn’t afford a simpler life right now” A particularly long and warm caress to her cheek accompanied this last allusion to the threat.

“I know. But I think nevertheless we can _escape_ sometimes, to forget everything for a while. Not even those dreadful icy monsters will prevent us from finding some moments for us. And if… when we get back to my conquest, we will always make more room in our lives for being just that.”

Jorah studied her expression for a while. He was extremely curious about what was going on in her head. It must have been quite a lot going on, because he could see her being somewhere else with her mind. After a while, she got back to watching him tenderly, her eyes glistening.

Jorah didn’t know she had recalled one of her old dreams, but not the ones about her Targaryen heritage. It was the one about a house with a red door instead, and she had asked herself if those were all prophetic dreams or just dreams: fire and blood, war and conquer, and a house with a red door, with Jorah opening the door for her.

## Jon’s cabin, now a sort of common room

Later that morning, Jorah and Daenerys reached the others who had gathered in Jon’s cabin, in order to let the ill and wounded rest if needed. Jon was sitting at the table, busily _writing_ , his face showing signs of nervousness. Sandor had a mug in front of him and did not look satisfied at all. Gendry stared into nothing, and Davos looked at Jon.

Everybody ignored the couple entering. The couple noticed the group ignoring them, and the group was very aware of its collective behaviour.

Even a fool would have understood the roots of this singular reception. The couple knew a few wooden partitions were **not** an effective barrier that could shield people from the music of love: a sweet tune for the players, but probably an embarrassing or annoying one for the listeners.

Jorah broke the ice. “So, Jon, still writing? Didn’t manage to write and send everything from Eastwatch?”

“Actually, these are new ravens.”

“To Winterfell?”

“Yes, to Winterfell.”

_Curious_ , thought Jorah. “Dire tidings? New issues?”

“No, just… to inform my siblings we have sailed, the ship is sailing, and I am almost fit again. And to tell them many things.” Jorah stared with suspicion at Jon, and Daenerys looked at him waiting for some sort of continuation. Therefore, Jon continued: “I think… I have neglected my… well, not my duties, but I think the North hasn’t heard enough from me. And Sansa definitely hasn’t. I left her the regency, then disappeared. She was right to be angry.”

“At least, it sounds like you left the regency in the capable hands of a strong woman. In my experience, it was a wise move” and he smiled to Daenerys, eliciting a grunt from Sandor and a raised eyebrow from Davos.

Daenerys was torn between appreciating the sweet compliment and feeling upset that he compared her to a regent. She find a clever way out, though. “Be careful, Jon: I think he will suggest soon that you relinquish all your powers in her hand and become her knight” she japed, sarcasm mixing with fondness.

Davos wanted to avoid Sandor’s angry remarks and to relieve Gendry of his embarrassment, and shifted the conversation to more apt and urgent themes. “So, how are we going to present the embassy to Cersei?”

Daenerys answered: “I think Tyrion’s absence makes this particular discussion more difficult. He is the one who knows her the best. We had discussed the main points already, starting from the agreement he reached with Jaime.”

Jon intervened: “Sansa knows her well too. I might ask her. We will find the reply at Dragonstone waiting for us.”

Sandor grunted, again.

Jorah stated: “We should also keep talking about fighting the Dead.  We have already analysed the strengths of our forces, especially the Dothraki, the mounted Northerners, and the Knights of the Vale. They will charge, trying to trample as many wights as possible, and trying to make it for the Walkers with arakhs, spears, lances, and pikes with dragonglass points. The Dothraki archers will also throw special arrows. I would say fire arrows for the wights, and dragonglass ones for the Walkers. A few of them will have Valyrian steel arakhs too, as far as I know.”

Jon added: “I think the most challenging task we will face will be finding the right way to employ the Unsullied. Fearless elite foot soldiers who will have to share the battlefield with various people-at-arms and with less skilled volunteer fighters… “

“The most unskilled fighters must be charged with lighting up as many wights and corpses as possible. Torches, hay, old cloth stripes, oil rather than wasting precious weapons” was Jorah’s pragmatic suggestion.

“This might be dangerous for the living as well, though, Jorah. Let us not forget that we can burn just as easily.”

Davos grimaced, and only Jon understood why.

Jorah replied: “Of course, but one always hopes that the living will try as hard as possible to avoid the fires, or to extinguish them quick enough if they catch on a sleeve” he was definitely speaking from experience here. “And, as brutal as it may sound… if they have to die nevertheless – because these are the unskilled fighters, and they do not have many chances to survive, let us be honest – better to die in a way that will destroy wights as well and prevent them from becoming one, than to be hacked to pieces or to be raised soon afterwards.”

Jon pondered his words for a while, then had to admit it with a sigh: “I guess you are right.”

Daenerys added: “I fear my dragons might ignite accidentally friends along with foes, too. It will not be an easy war, this much is clear.” Jorah reached for her hand and squeezed it tenderly, noticing she felt uncomfortable. “I am sure you will manage to control your dragons and to burn wights, not knights.”

Not even Jorah’s attempt at some rhymes for comic relief could have lifted the weight Daenerys felt in her chest, thinking of the Tarly execution. She was quite sure Tyrion still hadn’t mentioned it to Jorah, which meant Jon had no idea either. But how long until the truth was out?

## The ship’s deck, later at sunset

The marine breeze, although cold and wintery, was a balm for Daenerys, the Stormborn scion of House Targaryen born on Dragonstone. And Jorah loved it too: it reminded him of his Bear Island.

The couple enjoyed a tender and romantic moment breathing in the perfume of the sea. The appreciation of the sea breeze was yet something else that united them: both born on an island, both attracted by the deep blue waters. Jorah held Daenerys in his arms, who was standing before him, leaning into him, her head dovetailed under his chin.

It was a beautiful winter sunset, with only a few clouds here and there that reflected the reddish light of the disappearing sun. Jorah told her about clear winter nights, freezing but enchanting, especially when in a snowy landscape, or when looking at the sea. Daenerys did not have much experience about winter, having lived most of her life during the Long Summer, and in warmer places than Bear Island besides. However, she was fascinated by his stories, as she had always been. This time, however, she could barely imagine what he was describing – she got a few glimpses of a wintery landscape while flying to save the mission beyond the Wall, but her mind wasn’t focused on the beauty of nature back then.

“I hope we will get to see more of the North, and not just during war. I would like to visit Bear Island with you. I hope Jon can convince Lyanna to forgive you and to allow you to visit. I would love to walk through forests, along snowy paths, or to look at the sea from a Northern keep.”

“We will see, my love. Everything is still possible, I believe.” Jorah tightened his hug, and blessed her hair with a kiss. It was not the right time to let worries taint their peaceful moment together.

Less romantically, Daenerys also appreciated being able to check on Drogon and Rhaegal, since they were standing on the upper deck and could easily look to the sky. She felt reassured when she saw them reappear on the horizon and greeted them.

Suddenly, Daenerys had a wish, and removed the few hair pins and bands she had put back after her passionate night with Jorah. “I want to feel my hair waving in the wind freely” she explained.

Jorah smiled, helped her, and added: “Let’s move towards the rails. Hold tight on them, though. We don’t want to slip.”

Daenerys smiled and complied in silence, feeling Jorah’s body always behind hers and his arms tightening again around her, as if he wanted to straighten her up. His arms then shifted and gripped the rails too, next to hers.

Her long silvery strands waved in the wind. “I hope my hair doesn’t hurt you.”

“It’s so romantic, and enticing, although it also betrays a certain sweet childlike nature you have in you, and also unleashes the wildness you have in you.”

“Interesting choices, my bear. Romance, seduction, tenderness, and wildness.”

“They are, my love. It’s all I feel for you. It’s all I want to give to you.”

Jorah’s adoration was so intense she felt an equally intense heat take hold of her. “So, you lied to me when you said that all you ever wanted was to serve me” she remarked in jest.

“I didn’t lie. But if you give me leave to give you more, I will give it to you. All of it”

She leaned her head back towards him. He blessed her with a kiss, and she answered, almost whispering in his ear: “And I want to return all you have given to me and all you give to me.”

Jorah kissed her neck, squeezing her frame between his arms, and she nested her head between his shoulder and neck, her hair still riding the wind on her left side.

Soon the beauty of the wind in her hair and of the sight was not enough to keep them away from the call that came from the warmth of their bodies. Jorah lifted Daenerys in his arms to bring her back to their cabin, kissing her deeply many times along the way. He wanted to try every single way of kissing her, and she complied gladly, reciprocating his hunger and his curiosity. However, Jorah’s extensive experience and skills gave him a significant advantage. Daenerys acknowledged this and let him guide her through unknown paths of tenderness and raw passion that set them both on fire.

When they were naked on their bed, Jorah kissed her deeply while leaning her on the mattress. He stilled his hands on her body to have them both concentrate on the feeling of their mouths and tongues. It was a long kiss, though how long none could have said. When it ended, Jorah said with emotion: “I should have kissed you in Qarth, in the Red Waste, every night and every day. You were made to be kissed, often and well.”

Daenerys was so moved, and on fire as well, that she could only reciprocate and answer: “You make my head spin… I… cannot think straight when I am with you like this… not that I want to think straight right now.”

He dipped on her lips and on her body, trailing down until he reached his destination. They yearned to be joined soon, and he wanted her to be dripping as usual.

When he entered her, his cock slipped inside in no time, and he captured her lips after a shared moan that escaped them at the pleasure of being joined again. They stayed tightly embraced, sometimes rolling and shifting to change their positions. Their made love for long, Jorah putting his experience to use. When he knew he could not last much longer, and had her underneath him, he took her right leg to lift it further up, leaning it between his hip and shoulder. With this move, he also kept their hips tightly joined. Then he put his right arm beneath her shoulders and gripped her, slightly leaning on his elbow for balance, and started fucking her with hard hip thrusts while looking into her eyes, often leaning his forehead on hers. He made her peak one last time, their stares never parting. The sight of her eyes looking into his during her orgasm, and of her face deformed by pleasure, combined with the spasms on his cock and with her screams of “ooooh, Joooooohraaaaah”, made him orgasm too with a long, low moan. His left hand pushed tighter to keep them joined deep while he filled her, and he noticed her doing the same on the small of his back, all the while throwing her head slightly backwards. He then collapsed on her body, his forehead finally resting on hers while his last drops filled her. “My beautiful Daenerys” he whispered before giving a peck on her swollen lips.

They hugged again, and Daenerys said, tenderness and some bitterness mixed in her remark: “This should have been us in Qarth already.” She _did_ mean them kissing and being lovers, but she also meant the more balanced and communicative relationship they seemed to be developing as queen and knight. She knew she had often been very lucky previously, when she had ignored his counsel… but other times she had definitely failed and almost lost everything.

“This is us now. Everything else does not matter, my love.” And sleep embraced them both quickly.

\--

She was in the King’s Landing throne hall _again_. The ceiling had collapsed, and everything was covered in snow. She lifted her hand to touch the throne, and motioned to touch it, then she heard her dragons call her.

_Again. Like that vision in the House of the Undying._

Only, this time it was Jon who opened the gate for her and helped her get through, then showed her the direction. He walked north too, but in another direction.

She saw Drogo’s tent. _Again._

In front of the tent, this time, Jorah in his old Northern armour was standing guard. When she arrived in front of him, he stepped aside lightly, looking at her intensely. She stopped to reciprocate his stare, and then asked: “Do you know what’s inside the tent?”

“Yes, I do, khaleesi.”

She continued looking at him for a while, studying him, trying to understand. Then she decided she didn’t want to see again what was in that tent – only shadows of the past -, and motioned for Jorah to take her hand and lead her away.

Her dragons called again, and they followed.

“Why are you here as well, this time?” Daenerys wanted to know.

“Because now you doubtless wanted me to be here. Back then… your mind was not as clear as today, and even magic has to deal with someone’s mind.”

“Whose magic?”

Jorah squeezed her hand tighter, smiled, and continued leading her in silence.

They reached the army of the Dead, but the Dead did not care for them.

The Night King did, though. His blue eyes, cold and distant, pierced through her. But Jorah had reassuring words: “Our swords in the darkness”.

She noticed she had a sword on her hip. She unsheathed it, curious about the outcome. Her sword was shining of a warm light, like that of a fire in a Dothraki camp.

Jorah’s one was glistening too, with a pale and white light, colder than hers.

The Night King threw a hateful look at them, and made for a weapon he had on his belt…

She woke up, sweating and heavy breathing.

## Jon’s cabin, that very same night.

He was looking at a vast throne hall, although the ceiling had collapsed and everything was covered in snow.

The symbols of the Faith and the shape of the throne did not leave any doubts as to what hall it was. King’s Landing, the Red Keep, the Iron Throne.

He then noticed the gate at Castle Black popping up from one of the walls of the hall. He was surprised, and find it curious; nevertheless, he knew that was his direction, although he had left Castle Black on his own will a while ago.

He also noticed Daenerys going that way. _She cannot open and pass the gate. She needs someone of the Watch to do that._

He opened the gate for her and let her through. Suddenly he felt like she had to go somewhere, where a shape could be seen through the snow, and he had to go another way.

He reached the weirwood where he swore his oath. A red-haired shape was standing by it, wrapped up in pelts.

_Ygritte?_

But she was taller, and had no spear in her hand. She turned, and saw who it was.

Sansa, more beautiful than ever, smiling brightly at him. She had, in fact, something in her hands: a weirwood leaf she was guarding as if it were a precious jewel. Ghost appeared from the woods too, and he stopped between them.

“You found your way back, Jon.”

“I… I did.”

She motioned for him to come nearer, and she gave him the leaf.

The red leaf soon turned into flames upon touching his hand, but the flames did not burn him. It was red, and beautiful, enchanting.

“I… I don’t understand.”

“Flames to stop the Dead. Flames to keep you warm. Flames to keep you alive. Flames to bring you back to life.” And with those words Sansa leaned her hand to grasp his, the same way she had done as Castle Black that day that they had reunited.

He had never seen her like that. Her hair seemed to glow, her lips never looked so red, her eyes were so deep he felt he could get lost in them, and he _found_ himself lost in her. He could stare at her for long, instead of thinking they were both beyond the Wall, in a very vulnerable position, alone with only Ghost guarding them and no army.

Still keeping the small flame in his free hand, he lifted Sansa’s hand grabbing his to place a light kiss on her back.

“A true Dragonknight” she said as thanks for the gallant gesture.

Jon noticed that Ghost adjusted its position at their feet, _truly_ guarding them. He also noticed a glow coming from his sword. He unsheathed it in part, letting go of Sansa, and saw the sword glowing. It was a strange glow. It was not the warm glow of the sun on the ground during the summer, or the cold glow of ice and snow during the day. It looked more like the sun itself in the sky.

“Ghost knows, Ghost saw it first. And Ghost made you open your eyes too. Don’t worry, Jon.”

“Do you know what’s going on with my sword too?”

“You are still one of the swords in the darkness.”

“And we are guarding the realms of men?”

“The Starks of Winterfell never stop doing that. And they are not alone anymore, thanks to you.”

“You said I am a Stark to you…”

Sansa only smiled.

Jon felt dreadful, and woke up in panic.

## Jon’s cabin, the morning after

Jorah’s heart was beating fast, and it had nothing to do with his love for Daenerys this time. That had not been a dream, or a nightmare: it had been something else. “You both had the same… dream. It was a vision then, not a dream. And you met, and then went your way. Up north. Something has been intruding on… well, on us, right here.”

Daenerys and Jon were too shocked not to talk to someone about their nightly visions. Daenerys had immediately confided in Jorah. Jon didn’t know whom to confide in, but he tried to see if Daenerys and – or – Jorah were open to some weird dream discussion.  Luckily, he not only found comprehension, but also discovered that Daenerys had the very same vision.

Jorah reprised: “I am quite shocked that something magical happened here on this ship. I feel like something from beyond the Wall has followed us. Then I remember the Undying in Qarth had no friendly intentions either…”

“Bran has visions, too, Jorah. It might be it’s something that comes from Bran. At least I hope so.”

“Aye”.

Daenerys had to smile at hearing Jorah and Jon discussing, their native accents getting stronger and stronger.

“The swords in the darkness” repeated Jon.

“That much seems clear to me. We all know where we are heading, after we meet Cersei. And we all know the words of the Night’s Watch oath.”

“To be honest, ** _I_** don’t, Jorah” remarked Daenerys, almost reprimanding him for not telling her every single detail.

“I am sorry, but I never thought you would want or need to hear much about the Watch up until now. Anyway, it mentions the Brothers are ‘a sword in the darkness’.”

Jon completed: “ _Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honour to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come_.”

Daenerys observed, sad and worried: “It almost sounds like a curse. Hold no lands, have no children, wear no crowns…”

Jon interrupted: “Come on, Daenerys, I was simply recalling my old oath. I think it’s time to be all the Night’s Watch, but I am not planning on asking everyone to swear off love, titles, and family. Make no mistake: it will cost much to many people, and in the end it might cost even crowns, loves, and lives. But not to everyone.”

Jorah added: “I am sure surviving this war will not be easy. But knowing we are fighting for something or someone will give many of us courage. And those who will get back will have the possibility of rebuilding Westeros and living a happy life.”

Jon commented: “According to Aemon Targaryen and to your father, though, the contrary would be true, because duty and love were opposites. Incompatible.”

Jorah opened his mouth to answer, only to stop himself after repeating in his mind _Aemon Targaryen_ and connecting the dots. The ‘answer’ came from Daenerys herself: “ ** _Aemon Targaryen_**? You met someone from my family?”

“He served on the Wall as a maester. Aegon the Unlikely’s brother. Everybody had forgotten about him… I forgot to tell you too. He died, unfortunately… about two years ago, I would say? I am sorry. It really got out of my mind with all that happened after that. You know, the stabbing, the resurrection…”

“I understand. It just feels strange to hear you met a Targaryen. I only ever met Viserys. The idea that I once had a family… and then disappeared…”

“I guess Jorah will be your family soon. I would say the Mormonts are nice fellows. You admitted yourself your family can occasionally be… well, unpleasant. If I were you, I would be glad to… oh, I think I should just shut up, I apologise!” Jon realised too late he was blurting out things he could and should have kept for himself.

Jorah didn’t know how to react: laughing, reprimanding Jon, or being silent. Daenerys’ went wide-eyed, her jaw dropping; then, after a few instants, she thought he was right. “Yes, you might have been too blunt. But you are right. And Jorah has been my family for years already” she added with a smile.

Jorah tried to steer the conversation back: “So, what do we do about your visions?”

Daenerys thought about it for a while, then answered: “Nothing. We do nothing. We just go on as planned, and keep them in mind. They might be useful to interpret something that happens, or they might just be some magic trick by someone.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jorah and Daenerys have their Titanic moment, but I promise there will be no sinking here!  
> Next chapter will be more exciting, since stuff will happen.


	5. Not a dull affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is a dull affair according to which population of Planetos?   
> If you guess right, you will also guess what this chapter is about.  
> Feat. drunkenly worried Varys and Tyrion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonsa-only readers will have to be patient: we will be at Winterfell in two chapters, and it will be a time for wolves.  
> Neutral readers should have fun.  
> Jornaerys readers will party all night/day long.

### Dragonstone, the Chamber of the Painted Table

It was difficult to determine who was having the strongest headache between Varys or Tyrion. Admittedly, the excessive amount of wine they had consumed in the attempt of getting rid of said ailment had not helped: it had, in fact, doubled the pain, and added some burning stomach to the overall state of affairs.

“Well, at least we saved this vintage of… somewhere in Essos… from Clegane. It would be wasted on him,” said Tyrion to Jorah, who had just diplomatically asked if it was _really_ necessary to get inebriated.

Jorah defended the Hound: “Don’t be so hard on him. He stoically resisted on the ship and only complained thrice because we had neither wine nor ale on board.”

“From what I have heard, the lack of alcohol itself has not been the worst thing he had to endure on that ship. Ser Bear, I admit I never thought you were of the **_loud_** kind. As for our Queen… well, that seems more fathomable. Please remember me _never_ to take a cabin next to yours.”

“It’s a pity, Tyrion. I was planning on having you recite poetry about Valyria with me. It was the finest moment in our sailing experience.”

“I must be drunker than I thought. You… making a joke?”

Varys interrupted the friendly banter to get back to the assessment of the situation. “Your Grace, my Ladies and Lords. Let us summarise what we have here. We lost a **_dragon_** to the Army of the Dead and the White Walkers. Lady Sansa and Lady Arya have written ravens advising us not to trust Cersei and to bring her… well, summing it all up, _fire and blood_ , although the Ladies dare to differ on the timing and on the manner – Lady Arya seems to express a certain desire to be directly involved in Cersei’s passing. Lady Sansa also wants to understand whether Jon has given up Northern independency or not, since that much wasn’t clear in his ravens, and so do I, since **_it isn’t clear_**. On top of this, our Queen comes back engaged to her formerly exiled knight, once banished from the North for slaving, after having consumed the relationship already for the joy of an entire ship of our fleet. My highest concern has always been the realm, and I would say… the realm is not looking good right now.”

The Queen, already upset for the excessive wine consumption, cut out short: “Your concerns are better spent on other matters than my betrothal, Lord Varys. The alliance with the North, thanks to Jon Snow’s friendship, is secured. Jorah is a knight of noble family and a good advisor, we love each other, and we have agreed I might resort to polygamy if necessary to strengthen my hold on the kingdom.”

“Oh, polygamy. Now I feel reassured,” sarcasm dripping from his words.

“I will not take upon myself the title of king, Lord Varys. If another match is necessary, **he** will be the king and all the honours, and I will still be a Queensguard to both of them. We marry for love, that’s all we care about.”

“Although I don’t see any reason to marry anyone else. I have already won over as many armies as possible. If we come out alive from the war in the North, I could have even more supporters, due to my fighting in the North with the North.” Daenerys’ ego could not be restrained for long, and certainly did not like being slapped by Varys. “Besides, Lord Varys, I would like to be very clear on one thing. If something should happen to Jorah that looks _suspicious_ , and were these… suspicious circumstances something I could connect to you… well, you know it will be dragonfire for you, same as for treason.”

Tyrion, Jorah, Jon, and Davos all raised an eyebrow. “My love, I am sure it’s not necessary to execute people by fire as your father did. We don’t want people to associate you with him, I think.” Jorah had, unfortunately, missed a few episodes in Daenerys’ decision-making history due to his banishment first, and then to his quest for a cure. Tyrion had learned during his regency of a certain episode of summary justice by fire in Meereen as well as witnessed the more recent episode on the Blackwater, and added his concern: “Your Grace, you really should stop executing people by fire. Jorah is right: people were not pleased in Meereen, and will be even less pleased here. Please stop burning people.”

“ _Stop burning people_? You make it sound as if it were a habit for her. Unless you mean ‘in battle’… but she has dragons, and she is right in using then on the battlefield,” asked Jorah, not understanding the circumstances.

“Well, she has summarily executed a noble Ghiscari in Meereen as a sort of counter-terrorist action, and then let the dragons feed on his charred remains. You had already been exiled, so you didn’t know, and I also suppose you would have advised her differently.” Tyrion cleverly left the recent Tarlys incident out, thanks to some rational thoughts nagging at him despite the inebriation.

“ _Khaleesi_ … why?” Jorah at least managed to express himself, although his voice was almost a whisper. Jon was rather shocked at the revelation, and could not even say a word.

“I wanted the Harpy to stop attacking, I… I… oh, it was long ago, and I was alone, without you to counsel me” she looked at her betrothed. She then turned back to Tyrion. “Why recall it? Many things have changed in the meanwhile!”

“True, Your Grace. I apologise.” Even Missandei looked at Tyrion in disapproval.

Jorah looked at Daenerys with worry, and saw her truly pained at the thought of what she had done, so he believed her. He felt sorry to hear that it had happened after his banishment, and understood how terrified she must have been, now that he knew how shattered she had been by his betrayal, and how alone she felt.

Jon still did not say anything. He wondered for a little if there was any difference between beheading, hanging, and burning. Although… he had put an end to Mance’s life himself because he knew how painful it was, and Mance knew it too – ‘What a bad way to go’ he had said -. But it wasn’t probably the right moment or the right place to think about these things.

Davos did not like it one bit, remembering Melisandre. And Jon noticed how uneasy his Hand felt, but could do nothing.

Varys tried once again to steer back the conversation to their most urgent duties. “So, Your Grace, my ladies and lords. I think we have a few important tasks before us. First of all, preparing our urgent, impending parley with Cersei. I am not so sure about that wight in the wooden box… what if it escapes, or if it has powers we are not aware of? Second, if marriage has been decided, it’s time for a wedding. Possibly even before the parley.”

Astonished looks were exchanged between the presents in the chamber, including those of the couple in question.

Varys elaborated on his advice. “You see, I think a royal couple showing up will impress Cersei more, especially since she does not know of the curse on Her Grace’s womb and might fear an heir on the way already. Besides, the Northerners will need to be prepared to welcome Daenerys _and_ the formerly banished Jorah: along with due diplomatic work on many levels by our Jon Snow here, I think arriving at Winterfell with a Northern husband will help _her_ a lot, and being married to the Breaker of Chains will help _him_ a lot. Also, it’s not like we have time. I seem to understand we will be heading north soon after the parley, and the North cannot afford to host a royal wedding in winter and in between wars. Money, food, wine, and ale are scarce, and so will be tailors, and cleaning maids.”

A few instants of complete silence were finally broken by Daenerys’ heartfelt words: “I was hoping I could get you a Northern wedding, Jorah, but it seems it’s not meant to be. I loved your tales of Northern weddings, in front of a heart tree… it seemed so romantic.”

Tyrion raised a question: “So, if we are not having a wedding in the North in front of a heart tree… are we going to marry them in King’s Landing on our way to the dragonpit? Because we still lack a septon.”

“Who said I want to marry according to the Faith? I haven’t set a foot in a sept in years, and I cannot say I am a believer. I have been exposed to many different beliefs on Essos.”

“Daenerys, we _will_ have to choose a rite. We do not have many choices, it seems.”

“Now that I think of it, it’s a pity we left the Red Priestess go, lord Varys.”

Jon’s and Davos’ attentions were caught. Jon asked: “Red Priestess? You met one? It was a _red priestess_ who brought me back.”

“The woman seemed to know you, but she did not say much about your acquaintance. Melisandre was her name. She left for Volantis shortly before you arrived. She came here to convince me to ally with you.”

Davos’s teeth grinded. Jon admitted without betraying any emotion: “Yes, she was the one who brought me back.” Davos found an opening here: “I would not get too enthusiastic about _her rites_. Believe me, I know what I am talking about.”

“Well, Ser Davos, it seems to me like discussing the possibility is useless. Now, isn’t there any instance of a less religious wedding in Westeros? Something one of you can officiate?”

“There is another option, a very simple one, and a fitting one for the Khaleesi of all khalasars…” Jorah suggested.

Daenerys looked up at Jorah and wondered if he was drunk too. “Are Westerosi weddings out of question for me, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“We did meet at a Dothraki wedding,” Jorah added with a tender smile.

Daenerys returned the smile when she recalled meeting him and receiving the books. “You are right.” They didn’t have to speak out how they connected immediately that day, because they knew in their hearts, and remembered.

Tyrion wanted to know: “And what does a Dothraki wedding imply?”

Daenerys and Jorah looked at each other and answered: “An entire day of celebrations. Dances, fights, presents are given to the couple…” and Daenerys continued: “and the union has to be consummated outdoors. The Dothraki do everything of importance under the sky. The beach here is very beautiful…”

“Daenerys, we are _not_ consummating our marriage on a beach, especially not in winter. Believe me, you will be grateful. For starters, it’s humid, and the sand goes everywhere. Imagine now during winter…”

“Our Jorah here must have a wealth of experience, I seem to understand.”

“ _Shut up, Lannister._ ”

“Believe me, Tyrion, I appreciate his _wealth of experience_.” She turned back to Jorah: “Is it really that terrible, my bear? I trust you, although I won’t deny I am disappointed.”

“Yes _, khaleesi_ , it is. But we will make do. We can use the Northern vows, since the Dothraki have none and we don’t want anyone questioning our union. Then we will feast all day on the beach, roasting meat and fish, and hoping the Dothraki accept to keep a low profile in fights and… other things. It will be a dull affair, according to their standards, but we cannot afford to lose men because of a wedding.”

Tyrion interrupted: “I am afraid I am not following you. The fights, I can imagine: I guess a show with dwarves and singers is not exactly their style. But… losing men?”

Daenerys and Jorah explained together again, grinning: “A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair.”

All the presents except Missandei and Varys were quite astonished.

“Well, I guess it’s settled then. Northern vows in front of you all – and the Ironborn and the other Westerosi – and then a Dothraki feast. I am sorry, Daenerys: I would have loved for you to have a beautiful gown and all you deserve, all you could dream of… but, well, at least this time I will not have to suffer _The bear and the maiden fair_ sung during the celebration or the bedding.”

“I don’t care much for gowns. But maybe **_you_** wanted to see me in an enticing gown” and she blinked at her knight.

“I think I will be happy with what I get!”

### Dragonstone, on the beach, two days later.

The time had come.  It was a wonderful sunny winter morning on the widest beach of Dragonstone, and everybody had tried to dress up the best they could.

Jorah, the Ironborn, and a few Dothraki had spent the previous day fishing for the wedding feast. The Dothraki had prepared as much as possible according to their custom, without neglecting the primary duty of mining dragonglass and of supporting Gendry’s work. The young smith was already preparing the first weapons for the new war.

It had been difficult, but the couple even managed to spend the night before the wedding apart. They had said goodnight with a kiss, repeating themselves that they needed to rest and to prepare everything. Missandei had reminded them that this would make their wedding night more special, and Jorah agreed, although he wondered what she and Daenerys had been giggling about as soon as he had disappeared from sight.

As far as clothing went, Jorah had no other choice than to wear his new black gear, which was undoubtedly good-looking and royal, but was in no means an outfit for a royal groom _on his wedding day_. Daenerys had at least a darker blue coat she still had to try on. Blue was the colour she had often worn in Essos, and she wanted to homage their past on the other continent. The white coat was out of discussion due to the grief that was still connected to it.

When they met in front of the Westerosi witnesses and of the Dothraki crowd, Daenerys let him know: “You look incredible in your new armour. But I admit I miss your yellow shirt.”

“My old shirt? You would like to marry me in an old yellow shirt?”

“You have no idea how incredible you looked in that yellow shirt that seemed to highlight your blue eyes, especially with that opening on your chest.”

He leaned towards her ear and whispered: “If you keep talking like that, the wedding feast will be very short.”

Daenerys smiled mischievously. “And what do you think of my coat?”

“You are beautiful nonetheless. You could have come in furs, and I would have been happy. Maybe even happier, because I could tear them off you carelessly for our wedding night” he said blinking.

“We _really_ have to get married, my bear.”

Jon was asked to officiate the adapted Northern ceremony, as he was familiar with the rite.

“Who comes before the Gods?” Jon’s thick Northern accent resonated in a more ecumenical way.

“Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, Queen of Dragons’ Bay and of the Seven Kingdoms, Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains.”

“And Jorah of House Mormont, a knight sworn to Queen Daenerys, and blood of her blood.”

“What brings you here, in front of witnesses?”

“We are here to be wed in front of our people and of our allies” the couple answered together.

“So… Daenerys, do you take this man as your lord husband?”

“I take this man,” her eyes sparkling and twinkling.

“Jorah, do you take this woman as your lady wife?”

“I take this woman.” Jorah almost choked from the emotion.

“Now, the bride and the groom hold hands and kneel, and pray in silence. As we will all do: let us all kneel in silence and pray our Gods, so that they witness this union and bless it.” Even the Ironborn knelt and looked to the sea.

After a minute, Jon motioned for the couple to rise. “You may now exchange your cloaks.” Daenerys insisted on this: both would be protecting each other, after all, and both kept their family name.

After the cloaks were exchanged, Jon pulled out a scroll and read the words carefully written by Varys and Tyrion: “I now proclaim you lawfully wedded husband and wife. With this union, Queen Daenerys accepts any child born of it as rightful heir to the Iron Throne, following equal primogeniture law. Ser Jorah assumes the title of Prince Consort Jorah. He accepts he has forfeited any claim to lands and to any titles other than his knighthood and his place as an advisor and Queensguard, and renounces any claim in the line of succession, keeping only regency privileges if these are needed for the sake of the realm.” Jon put down his scroll and added on his own accord: “Now the bride and groom may kiss!”

Jorah took Daenerys passionately, his hands on the small of her back, and kissed her, for the joy of the Dothraki who let out high-pitched screams and began with the drums as she put her arms around his neck.

When they parted, Daenerys turned to the Dothraki and presented Jorah to them: “A new khal to your khaleesi,” she announced in their language, and the crowd applauded the _Andal_ who spoke their language fluently, the only _Andal_ khal they would accept. Daenerys then led him hand in hand to their place, a makeshift bench meant to isolate them from the dreadful humid Jorah was so worried about, made of a log and some cushions. They sat down looking at each other, eyes and hearts locked, a warm feeling inside them.

“My queen” he managed to murmur Jorah.

“And your **_wife_** , _husband_ ” Daenerys corrected him, faking a reprimand. Jorah answered by kissing her hand, and she shifted a little in his direction in order to lean against him, her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her and stroked her waist with his hand.

The fish Jorah and the Ironborn had caught had been roasted on spits and skewers mainly after the manner of Bear Island and of the Iron Islands: a sign, this, of times changing, for sure. Davos had first suggested a few recipes from King’s Landing, but in the end he found out he was more familiar with the simpler marinades of seafaring people and of islanders, and simply brought a few tricks to the table. A few younger Dothraki brought some food and wine to the newlyweds, and, after that, people started serving themselves freely. Beside fish, the rationed food Dragonstone offered was shared among the present. Braziers were spread across the beach, and so were spits and skewers with more fish, and grills with some of the food they had brought from Essos.

People started to socialise, dance, play games – Jorah noticed the Ironborn pulling out some small axes, and hoped for the best -. Some even started to sing.

“It does not look bad. In fact, it’s a beautiful day, and people look happy. The sea is wonderful, the beach and the rocks behind it are fascinating, and the fish tastes good – I hope you like it too, my love. But it pains me to think you deserved a queenly wedding with proper clothes and many gifts and are getting this instead. I don’t even have a present for you.”

“I would say in a marriage out of love the _groom_ should be a present good enough for the bride, my bear. And I told you I don’t care for feasts and gowns. I had enough of them in Essos, and still wasn’t happy. Speaking of gifts… the fish you prepared is good… how did you find the right herbs and spices?”

“A stroll and a ride, accompanied by some experience and instinct, and sheer luck. Unfortunately, Dragonstone seems to have even less resources than Bear Island… but I managed to find enough to make some of the fish a food fit for a royal wedding. Some of the fish did not even need to be marinated. Here, try this,” and he offered her a pinkish piece of something. “This, for instance, is only roasted, no marinade. One can also grill it.” Daenerys let him feed her, taking his fingers into her mouth in a sensual way. “It’s good, my love, really good, quite different from the other things. And I like the idea of us not just sharing a plate and a goblet, but feeding each other.”

“You know we will soon be hungry for _other things_ if we feed each other the way we just did, my love.”

Daenerys was so amused by his warning she even dared to do more: she took up a skewer with the pinkish fish, gracefully and slowly put an extremity in her mouth, sensually removed one of the pieces with her lips and teeth, and then offered it to Jorah. He didn’t even have time to think about the show they were offering: his instinct took over, and he bit the piece of food with his mouth and then kissed her deeply, sharing the treat with his very willing wife. Only the Dothraki and Ironborn whistles and catcalling reminded him that it was definitely not a Westerosi royal behaviour… but since he was also a khal to a passionate khaleesi he ignored the warning in his mind, and played along.

\--

Later, shortly before the sunset, Jorah motioned for Daenerys to stand up and follow him.

“I admit I lied: I **do** have a gift for you. Not a material one… but I hope you will like it.” He seemed almost shy.

Daenerys was curious. The only thing she could see, though, was Missandei holding the reins of their horses, and a few Dothraki holding torches.

“Did you hide my present somewhere on the island?”

“No, your present is a horse ride around the island at sunset. I noticed a few beautiful spots while looking for the herbs: paths across rocks and a few meadows, and a nice beach on the other side, perfect to enjoy the sunset… I also took note of your desire to have something romantic on the beach. A horse ride – we both loved our careless time riding with the khalasar -, followed by a walk, kisses and caresses on a beach might give you _in part_ what you seek.”

Daenerys was so moved that she jumped wordlessly to put her arms around his neck to hug and kiss him. “You are the most Dothraki Westerosi there is. It was only fitting I should marry you.”

Jorah simply chuckled tenderly in his low, smooth voice, and felt relieved she appreciated his symbolic gift.

He led her through a few paths, telling her about his search for herbs and about many other things he felt like sharing with her, as they used to do long ago during their rides across the Dothraki sea. After a while they reached a small beach on the opposite side of Dragonstone, enclosed by cliffs in a tiny gulf. There were some sandbars next to the far ends of the gulf. The sun was almost ready to dive below the horizon, and was a reddish disc hovering some feet above the water. The sky, the water, and the beach were a wonder to behold.

After some trotting on the beach, Jorah stopped and unmounted his horse, then moved to gather her in his arms instead of letting her dismount by herself. “Since we are reviving some of our fondest first khalasar memories, we don’t want to have you dismount by yourself,” he affectionately commented in jest.

She tightened her hold on his neck and shoulders, gave him a quick peck, and let herself slide rubbing shamelessly against him. “Did I ever dismount like this before?” she asked smugly.

“You didn’t, but I would be a liar if I said I never dreamt of it. It took me as a surprise, you know, that I should dream of you like that, since in the beginning I spent a lot of time denying you had already caught my heart.”

“I would be a liar if I said I never noticed how strong you are.” She blushed.

“Daenerys!” he chuckled. “You mean you did not tighten and adjust your grip on my biceps or shoulders just because you feared falling? And… you are adorable when you blush. I never knew a Targaryen could blush.”

“You are a sweet, arrogant, irreverent man,” and she kissed him, silence reigning for a while.

Daenerys took his hands, and he led her across the beach, showing her first the scarce vegetation gripping on the cliffs and explaining what he knew of it, then the light tricks the setting sun played, then a few crustaceans timidly appearing on the shore.

Daenerys shivered a little at the sight of a big crab. “It looks like a spider, or a manticore.”

“I agree they look weird. But they are tasty, too. You actually ate a few – they were the pink meat you liked so much.”

“As long as _you_ prepare them for me, I will be fine with them existing.”

“Do you want me to be your personal cook as well?”

“Why not? At least as far as fish goes!”

“Crabs are crustaceans, not fish,” he commented, giggling.

“Well, sea food, then. The Dothraki are still struggling to have a positive relationship with the sea, I certainly cannot ask them.”

Jorah chuckled once again. “Queens usually have a cook…”

“Cooks need some time off to rest, too.”

“You are right, they do, my sweet queen. I will gladly cook for you, when you wish. And hunt for you – I want you to have a furred cloak made by me.”

“Is it something you did for all your wives?”

“Aye, but yours will be the most beautiful one.”

“I wasn’t jealous, just curious, my bear. I had two husbands too.”

“One never knows,” he mocked her.

“When you are so irreverent, you make me furious in part, but I also love you all the more for it. I think I never wanted a meek, acquiescing man beside me. Adoring and loyal, yes, meek and acquiescing, definitely no.”

He kissed her, and then replied: “However… please stop me before you start thinking of feeding me to the dragons.”

“I really missed _this_ : the bantering, your challenges, our discussions. It has been since I banished you…”

“ _Shht._ Don’t think about things that make you sad. It’s our wedding night, and I want you to be the happiest woman on earth.”

“Are _you_ the happiest man on earth?”

“You know I am.” He led her to a place in the midst of the sandy plain, away from the sea creatures populating the shore, sat down on his cloak and made her sit between his legs, looking at the sunset. “I brought you here to see this in my arms.” He hugged her tenderly and kissed her cheek, and she leaned into him, nesting her head between his neck and shoulder.

They shared a few tales, some caresses, and some silent appreciation of the power and beauty of nature, until the sun disappeared, leaving a darker red glow in the sky. Even in the twilight, the place was enchanting.

“Hold me tighter. I am not from the North” ordered playfully Daenerys.

Jorah complied, accompanying the gesture with another kiss on her cheek. “I bet you can see why I didn’t think making love on the beach would be a good idea.”

“You were right about the humidity. I am starting to feel it under my arse.”

“Since when does Queen Daenerys Targaryen say words like that?”

“I must have learned from a certain bear of a knight, a man who swears – and does even dirtier things with his mouth…”

As if to support her claim, Jorah’s lips grabbed her neck, kissing and nibbling, then went up to her ear.

“Are you sure our passion isn’t enough to keep us warm and dry?” She turned to be able to face him.

He kissed her, then reprised. “My love…” and he continued kissing her neck, “My concern… is not so much about the foreplay or the lovemaking.” He stroke her teats. “It’s about the aftermath. Humidity and grain of sands usually leave marks… and other consequences.” He kissed her again, and then nibbled on her nose. “I would love to grant you your wish, but you would regret it soon. We can kiss, hug, and caress each other for a while, but then we have to go. I promise that if we ever see another summer, I will make love to you under the stars, on a meadow, every time you will want it.”

Daenerys caressed his cheek and kissed him wordlessly.

\--

After climbing up the stairs to the castle, in part hand in hand, in part admiring each other’s arse from behind, they finally reached the gate. Jorah was happy the Unsullied did not know _The bear and the maiden fair_ as he lifted Daenerys to bring her to their room, kissing her.

As soon as he had put her down next to their bed, she ordered him in her best queenly voice: “Undress for me, Jorah,” and sat on the bed.

“Is that how it’s going to be, then?” he asked playfully, and started complying.

“I _am_ the queen.”

“And I enjoy it immensely.”

“I know. Your eyes are twinkling, and you are grinning with satisfaction, Prince Jorah.”

Jorah chuckled at hearing his new style. “I guess I will have to get used to it.”

Daenerys admired Jorah removing every single layer of his gear, accompanying the process with amusement and teasing. She loved his smug expression, his intense looks, and his twitching muscles. When he was finally stark naked, his cock already half-erected, he walked towards her, and leaned for a kiss that she gave freely. Then she put her hands on his chest, and pushed him away.

“Now… I still haven’t decided if I want to return the favour, or if I want you to remove my clothes.”

“I will be happy no matter what you choose.”

She stood up, and stroked his chest, then kissed his jaw. “I think… I want you to undress me. I want to see your hands everywhere.”

Jorah got hold of her coat immediately, and answered while tacking his task: “And what about my mouth?”

“You know the answer to that one.”

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere.”

He removed her clothes one by one and undid her braids, sometimes tenderly, sometimes with raw passion, blessing every single uncovered inch with caresses and kisses. When she was finally naked, he lifted her up in her arms, but instead of bringing her to bed, he brought her to the table where water, wine, two glasses, and two goblets were. He deposited her on the table, her arse on the brink, and then caressed her inner thighs to spread them while positioning himself between her legs and kissing her. He gifted her with a quick caress to her lower lips, then his hands moved to the goblets, and poured some wine for them both.

“I didn’t think you had _wine_ on your mind.”

Jorah did not answer, but looked at her intensely, still grinning smugly, then swallowed some wine. She suspected he had something on his mind, and knew him enough already to understand she would soon discover something exciting. So, she drank all of her wine.

Jorah took her goblet away and put it out of reach for her, then put his own down, and kissed her deeply, the taste of the red nectar still in their mouths.

When they parted, he picked up his goblet again, dipped two fingers in it, and passed them on her lips. She felt a sudden heat wave, and before she could think of anything else he was licking the wine away from her lips, only to kiss her deeply again as soon as he had licked all the wine away.

They had just begun some foreplay and her head was already spinning. And it was not because of the wine.

He repeated the process, adding some nibbling. Daenerys’ arousal increased.

He then picked up the goblet again, and let a few drops fall on her décolleté and teats. His tongue hurried to lick her clean. She was breathing heavily and moaning, and he looked like someone who had many more ideas, and was ready to let them become reality.

He dipped his fingers again, and wetted her nipples with wine, only to suck it and lick it away. He did this a few time, then let some wine pour down her, starting just where the mound of her left teat began, and drank from the stream flowing down her teat and nipple.  Then he pushed her gently backwards to have her lie on the table. She could swear there must have been a wet spot on the wood between her legs already, dripping as she was.

He briefly got back to licking wine from her lips and kissing her, then poured some wine on her between her teats and on her belly, and drank, and lapped her clean.

It was the sweetest and dirtiest thing she had ever heard of, or witnessed, or experienced, and she loved it immensely. So she told him that, between sighs and moans. “So much like you, my bear,” she added.

Hovering over her lower mound, he said: “I am happy you love it,” then kissed her there teasingly.

She was prepared to feel the wine between her legs, but surprisingly he dipped on her lower lips immediately, just like that.

She let him kiss and lick her for a while, wetting his face with her pleasure, then managed to ask him: “No wine?”

“I want to taste your pleasure, unaltered,” he declared, his raw passion consuming her. Instants later, she had her first peak, and she needed to sit up and look down at him pleasuring her. He continued working his magic with mouth and fingers, looking up at her.

Soon it wasn’t enough, and she grabbed his hair pulling him up. She pushed him on the chair while standing up, grabbed his rock hard and velvety shaft, and lowered herself on him, looking into his eyes. They both moaned loudly. He put his hands on her hips with a tender caress, and she put hers on his shoulders, then started moving. She immediately rubbed herself on him, nipples and clit, and continued doing that as much as possible. He let her be in control, and only claimed her for kisses, and caressed her buttocks, her hips, her back, or sucked and licked her teats. Her silver hair bouncing and brushing against him were incredibly sensual and sweet at the same time.

She used all the tricks Doreah had taught her long ago, even something she still hadn’t showed Jorah: he clearly felt her contracting her muscles willingly, tightening her grip on him, enhancing her already skilled and sensual movements.

“Did Doreah teach this… incredible trick too?”

She murmured into his ear: “You are not the only one… who wanted to keep something… for our wedding night.”

She wasn’t even fucking him hard, but it was all so erotic – the way she moved, all the parts of her he felt, the voluntary contractions of her inner walls on her cock – that he had to bite her neck. He felt her throw back her head, rub herself against him even harder and increase her speed slightly, and then she bit him back and reached yet another one of her orgasms. He let her ride it out, then stopped her in order not to spill immediately.

He picked her up and threw her on the bed sideways, settling her so that her cunt lay on the brink of the mattress. He bent over her to kiss her mouth, and then dived between her legs to give himself some rest without letting Daenerys dry up or lose interest.

She loved it, and he loved tasting her tasting of him, but she also loved having him inside her. “I need you back inside,” she ordered soon.

He grabbed her thighs, entered her in a single move, and bent slightly towards her to let her feel him completely, shifting some of his weight on his hands on the mattress. He chose hard thrusts followed by slow pulling out. When he started falling back into the usual rhythm, Daenerys knew she had to utter the request she felt burning inside her, or she would come again, and he would come too.

“Fuck me the Dothraki way, Jorah.”

Jorah leaned forward, resting on his elbows, and continued fucking her, pounding her hard into the mattress, as she always loved. “You make all my dreams come true,” he whispered in her ear.

She bit him on the neck again, and felt him slip out of her, backing a little from the bed. He grabbed her hips tenderly and made her turn, so that she was on her knees. Then his hands stroked her buttocks and thighs. He also kissed her buttocks, her lower lips, and licked her clit quickly.

She put her hands, forearms, and chest on the mattress, and arched her back to raise her arse and open up for him, her hands and forearms supporting most of her weight along with her knees. She then felt his strong hands grab her hips again, this time with determination and the right amount of force. He entered her again in a single stroke.

She had never felt him so deep and so hard, and the moan she let out did not even sound like her voice. “Ohhhh…. Gooods… JorAAAH”, her back arching in unison with his hip thrusts to have him reach deeper and deeper, his cock rubbing and hitting the right place every single time, his balls slapping against her lips and her clit.

Despite the blurry state her mind was, she _still_ managed to notice that it only took him five strokes to make her come in that position. His cock was almost pushed all the way back out of her. Other five or six strokes, and she came again, this time undoubtedly pushing him out with her muscles.

His reaction was getting back forcefully in and fucking her even harder. His moans were now grunts, and her screams sounded like those of her dragons. The slapping noises and the wet sounds of his blows inside her accompanied their voices.

It was wild and beautiful. Jorah could not believe the primal beauty she offered to his sight while she was like this - her round butt, her arched back, her hair spread on the bed - and could not believe what they were feeling either.

Daenerys suddenly felt his hand threading between her hair near her nape, pull her up against him, and whisper into her hear: “I cannot believe how wet, and tight, and deep you are. I cannot believe how much you like to be fucked like this… by a bear… my dragon,” and he let her go, pushing her back to her previous position, then slapped her on her arse.

She came so hard he had to fuck her as an animal to stay inside her, and the strong contractions of her cunt along with the wildness of their intercourse made him spill immediately: he stayed deep inside her, pushing, and she milked him. The deep penetration and the night apart made their orgasm together an incredible sensorial experience: he was flooding her, she felt every contraction of his orgasm too, and her own wetness had already dripped copiously down his legs.

After a while, Jorah collapsed on her, hugging her tenderly against his chest, pulling her on the bed rightways. He kissed her head and her neck, and told her: “I love you, my dragon,” while she covered his arms with hers.

“I love you, my bear.”

“So… you _are_ all right, aren’t you?”

“What do you think?” and she turned to face him, grinning in satisfaction, hugging him back and kissing him quickly. “I thought it was clear.”

“I prefer asking. I felt your satisfaction in every possible way I could feel it - and hear it -, but things have gotten very wild at the end…”

“It would be strange for a dragon and a bear not to be wild, I believe,” and she nested her head between his neck and shoulder.

He kissed her on her neck. “I think I should get the blanket and the furs,” and with a caress on her hair he sat up and retrieved their covers.

“My love, could you please bring me some water too?”

“Of course, darling.” He stood up after covering her, picked up the glasses and the water jar, and brought them to the nightstand. He looked at her while pouring some water, and told her with a smile full of emotion: “I still cannot believe you are my wife.”

She rolled on her belly and pulled herself up on her elbows. “I cannot believe you are my husband either,” she murmured, smiling back.

After drinking, he slipped back under the covers and pulled her into his arms for the night. She cuddled up against him after they had kissed, her head leaning against his chest.

“I managed to exhaust you. _Now_ I am really satisfied.”

A peck on his chest, and, after a while, her peaceful snoring told him that she was warm and comfortable enough, and that she had taken his playful remark the right way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I will never experience a wedding night myself, I take pleasure in writing wedding nights. The big one is still a long way to come - a book-based fic is a pain in the ass, I tell you - but it is coming, same way my characters come every single time ;-)


	6. The path to Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last preparations before heading to Winterfell: politics, military strategy, love and friendship. And something more.  
> Feat. venomous Cersei, several foreshadowings, Easter eggs, and Chekhov's guns, Jorah buying a ticket for the RMS Jonsa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Must be the first sex-free chapter I have written in a while!  
> As usual, I will be grateful if you tell me about typos, mistakes, forgotten pieces of sentences and words...

## The dragonpit, on the outskirts of King’s Landing.

Upon entering the pit, Cersei immediately noticed the small shape of her _wretched_ brother from afar, followed by a black and tall figure she had first met years ago. The figure belonged to the unforgettable man who had managed to defeat Jaime in a tourney after being knighted by her late husband: Jorah Mormont. She admitted he looked quite the part of a royal consort and Lord Commander of a Queensguard: elegant, tall, strong, solemn, and wary. And handsome, very handsome: he still looked as gorgeous as he did the day he won his tourney, despite the few silver streaks showing here and there, and some lines he hadn’t that day in Lannisport.

After some searching around, she finally found the _wretched_ King in the North: a smaller, darker, copy of his father, ironically looking very much like his aunt, that small and pretty Northern whore who stole Rhaegar from the Dornish bitch. _There is no doubt that one is a Stark_ , she concluded. As for him looking like a king, well… that was a different matter. He seemed unhappy and uneasy, and the thick furs he wore made him look more as a Wildling should look than a king.

The _Targaryen whore_ wasn’t here, and she did not like it one bit. The group had already been late, and the _foreign invader_ seemed to think that adding further delay was very queenly, or very sly.

“So, Prince Jorah, quite a leap you made – last time we met you were only the freshly knighted _poorest Lord of the Seven Kingdoms_ , albeit the hero of Pyke. However, it seems like your fabled _new_ wife isn’t here. Didn’t she travel with you?”

“No.”

“And you got married only… three days ago.“

“Aye. And I love her too much to have her risk her life travelling with her entire court and her allies, on the one single ship you allowed to sail into the Blackwater, if our travelling choices are what is unsettling you.”

Cersei studied Jorah’s expression to try to read if he was telling the truth, and she chose to believe him. She wasn’t done with venom, though: “After all, I recall you never cared much for rules such as waiting to consummate a union until after the wedding.” Besides the obvious courting that had lasted for all the celebrations at Lannisport, Jorah had disappeared with Lady Lynesse Hightower after winning the tourney: the couple was seen entering his room at the inn amongst passionate kisses by many, and heard spending quite some time in there by a few. She had wondered if Lord Leyton’s approval to the unlikely union had been influenced by the fact that Lynesse’s honour was officially stained. Lord Jorah was valiant, strong, and handsome, but was poor and his lands meaningless; however, almost all Lannisport knew she had shared Lord Jorah’s bed, and even if one could imagine she hadn’t gone to that room a maid, the time for suppositions was definitely over. Had it been Mormont’s plan all along, seducing her for all Lannisport to know and then proposing, leaving Lord Leyton few choices? “I suppose you will survive a few nights apart.”

“I thank you very much for your concern,” answered Jorah in mock gratitude, only to return the venom. “I suppose you are worried my wife and Queen might be in a bad mood. You are right to be: an upset or disappointed dragon queen can be dangerous to cross.”

Tyrion murmured from behind: “Mormont, as much as I love seeing my sister take a blow, I fear _this_ might not help right now.”

Euron could not stay still: “Can you still find your cock, Mormont? Hasn’t it withered yet, among your poverty, your age and your exile in Essos? The most beautiful woman in the world married to a lice-ridden Bear Islander who is almost fifty…”

Cersei could not have any of it: “Go on, and I will give them **_your_** dried cock as a wedding gift, and you will be thankful it was only your cock and not your head.” She then turned back to Jorah, who had his hand on his sword already: “We have been waiting for your delegation for a while, and your wife seems to think we like waiting.”

Jorah only grinned in mock and challenge, and said nothing.

The dragons answered in his stead: their screams and growls resonated over King’s Landing after hundreds of years. Soon Drogon and Rhaegal were in sight, circling over the pit. Finally, Drogon began his descent, landed on one if the sides of the arena, and growled a few times in the direction of the presents. It made Jorah proud to see Daenerys on Drogon’s back, arriving like that, the embodied combination of sweetness and wildness challenging the world on her unlikely mount. He was so lost in adoration that he almost forgot his duties as Queensguard, and hurried towards his wife, who had already solemnly descended from Drogon’s back. Not that she would have liked him to help her dismount in front of others: jumping in his arms after dismounting was something she wanted to keep for their private sphere, and she had been very clear about this rule between them. Anyway, welcoming her and escorting her to her seat was still his Queensguard’s duty.

Drogon openly looked at him as if it were saying _I leave her to you and you alone. I hope Rhaegal and I do not have to regret this_ , then surprisingly nudged him delicately with its snout. He wondered if some magic had actually made him read Drogon’s thoughts.

Daenerys chuckled at the scene. “And to think you even fed them when they were babies in the Red Waste and in Qarth,” observing Jorah’s surprised and worried face.

Jorah straightened up and reverted to his knightly self. “You are always an incredible sight to behold, my Queen,” and motioned to take her hand to kiss it gallantly, as Drogon flew away. He then let her walk towards Cersei, accompanying and shielding her on the side he saw the Lannister guards nearer. She stood straight, proud, and fearless, until she reached her seat.

Cersei did not miss the arrogant face Daenerys had put on. She was little, but one could see that she was _Rhaegar’s sister_ indeed, and it pissed her off immensely. She was even more pissed when she noticed the impression that the Targaryens made on their seats: that of an _arrogant_ , noble, beautiful, powerful couple. Jorah was even more kingly when seated: impeccable posture, a strong hand on his sword pommel, the other one resting on his thigh. Daenerys had long silver-blonde hair in several complicated braids that finally coiled in one single braid, almost touching the ground. She wore a dark grey and black coat and gloves, and a silver chain. She also wore some black eyeliner, and even had bells in her hair – probably some savage custom she had brought from Essos. Her outfit was matching her husband’s colour in everything except for the cloak: hers was a darker shade of red, his was deep black.

“We have been waiting for quite some time.”

“My apologies.” Her smile was almost a sneer. Her arrogance seemed to know no boundaries.

Nevertheless, she almost missed Daenerys’arrogance when she saw _that thing_ coming out of the crate, not to mention when she heard Jon Snow speaking and thought for a while Ned Stark had come back from the dead too.

She was even less pleased when she witnessed Euron playing his due part by shamelessly trying to flirt with Daenerys and provoking Jorah. “Send your husband to fight them, and retreat to your island, as I go back to mine. When winter is over, we will be the only ones left alive, and I will come to rescue you.”

“One step nearer, and you will be the first _not to survive_ this winter, Greyjoy.” Jorah had already loosened his sword.

“You are a pathetic beggar clad in royal silks and wools. I am almost sorry I will not be the one who kills you. Maybe I will think of you next time I raid the wretched island you come from, though: somebody will be left there too, waiting for my blade, my axe, and maybe even my cock.” And with that, he walked away.

Cersei observed that the two men, although sworn enemies, had more in common than they thought, such as the swagger in their black gear. Between this last thought and the excitement for her ongoing ruse, she missed Jaime’s reactions to the threat of the Dead completely, a mistake she would pay for later.

However, she did not miss the great assist Jon Snow offered her by declaring that he was indeed “truth to my word. I cannot serve two Queens. I have already pledged to Queen Daenerys and Prince Jorah, my allies, and my friends,” though. _Like father, like son. So honourable, so careless, so stupid, offering me the hilt of the sword every single time._ Witnessing the horror on the Targaryens’ faces, as well as on Tyrion’s and Ser Davos’ ones was the last pleasure she took before leaving. _This wasn’t planned among them. Playing them along will be easy. Amateurs of the game of thrones._

Her satisfaction let her miss yet another element, Jaime and Brienne’s interaction. The bill due for payment would come to her soon, and as a Lannister she would have to pay it.

**

As soon as the Lannister court disappeared, Daenerys and Jorah exchanged enraged looks.

“Should we reprimand him together?”

“It depends, my queen. Do you want me to _calm_ you or to _encourage_ you?”

“Probably both. Come with me.”

Jon was brooding and sulking again, kicking some stones and cobbles. His glowering intensified as he noticed the Targaryens coming for him.

“So, _friend_. We thank you for your loyalty. Unfortunately, it seems to us that you could have just… kept that for yourself? You know, same way you did not tell us that you had actually _pledged_ to us, not just decided to put Northern independency claims aside for the time being?”

Jorah added “I can imagine Lady Sansa ignores this decision of yours as well.”

Jon tried to defend his action: “I am sorry, but lying to her face… it simply wasn’t honourable.”

Jorah commented sarcastically: “I am sure being raised by the Night King will be a very honourable end to meet.”

“There is still hope.”

“Oh, yes, true, there is still hope. It might have helped hope succeed, though, if we _secured the truce and the Lannister army_ first _._ ”

Daenerys also had a personal issue with it. “Viserion died so that we could be here today, and thanks to you it was all for nothing. I thought you had learned something from that experience, but I was mistaken.” She was almost crying.

“It’s not true. **_You_** needed to see to be convinced. You…”

“Don’t you dare say it, Jon.” Daenerys stopped him right there. Jorah spontaneously took her hand and squeezed her, recognizing the pain she was in. “You might consider letting lady Sansa speak on your behalf, in the future,” he darted at Jon.

Tyrion joined the friendly talk. “You know, Jon, I really appreciate you bending the knee to the Targaryens. I also appreciate your willingness to surprise friends. What we should work on is your timing in decision-making. Oh, and some innocent, strategic lying every now and then, for the greater good?”

“I cannot swear an oath I am not going to uphold.”

Jorah intervened: “Do you fear the rage of the Gods? Haven’t you understood there are no gods? There is just magic, magic creatures, and us, humans.”

“I don’t care about the gods. And I can already hear Sansa saying that this is the attitude that got Father killed. But the truth is: if people start lying, when do they stop? And if enough people make false promises or tell lies and we all keep lying, words stop meaning anything. Then we are all a bunch of liars trying to outdo each other. It will not do.”

“Jon, listen to me. Everyone lies every now and then. You know why? Because **we** are no gods. We are humans. And as for your father: even he was not honourable all of his life, and **you,** his bastard, are the living proof of it. Yet, we would not have you without your father’s less honourable moment, and we would know nothing about what’s coming for us.”

Daenerys found Jorah’s words incredibly sweet. She knew, then, what she had to say. “Even Jorah came to me as a spy for King Robert, you know. He lied to me for months, but one day he **_stopped_** spying on me and devoted his life to me. It’s true: it hurt terribly to know he had lied to me, and it made it difficult for me to trust again – to trust him, to trust anybody. So, in a way, I understand what you are saying. But that’s when you learn to understand people, and when you truly get to know them. It’s when you understand that deeds matter more than words, and it’s when you start looking for the right signs in people to help you read their true intentions and nature. Jorah might have lied to me when he did not know me, and might have hidden the truth for a while, but one day he shifted his allegiance in his heart, and he never once looked back. I know now that he would give his life for me, that he would fight the Dead and the White Walkers barehanded for me, he would kick the Iron Throne away from Cersei if I ordered him to; he would walk to wherever I asked him to go, and then return to me. Even if he was a spy, and even if he sold a few poachers to slavers before, hoping to get away with it. Even if he fled your honourable father to keep his head on his neck. He lived so he could meet me, and he saved me countless times, and made me a queen.”

Jon listened to them, and tried to see their point. “I guess… I should think about what you have said. I guess you are right. I once lied and manipulated too, to be honest.”

Raised eyebrows followed the enigmatic and paradoxically open admission of a spot on Jon’s honour. Jorah cracked his knuckles to let out some of the irritation he felt.

Tyrion wanted to know: “Might we hear the story of this terrible lie, at least? Or is it something like ‘I told my father I was ill to avoid training in the snow and stay in bed all day, and he bought it, and had servants bring me food and drinks to bed’?”

“I lied to the Free Folk, to their King, and to the woman I had fallen in love with and slept with, because I had to spy on them on behalf of the Night’s Watch. I killed my brother Qhorin Halfhand in order to convince them. I told them I wasn’t a Brother anymore, but was one of the Free Folk instead. I told her I would be with her forever.”

“And you clearly are not with her anymore. I recall you brought the Wildlings into the Kingdom, so the Wall would not be what is keeping you apart. I guess she never forgave you,” observed Tyrion, who was not as enraged as Jorah was and as grieving as Daenerys was.

“I don’t know. I think she might have never forgiven me, I agree. Unfortunately, she died in my arms during the attack to Castle Black before I could even ask her to forgive me.”

Everybody seemed to soften upon hearing the story Jon tried to tell as if it were a joke.

“I am sorry, Jon,” confessed Jorah, and patted his shoulder. He knew more than anyone what it felt like to have your woman die while holding her hand, and it had almost killed him, even though she was not the one he loved more. Daenerys joined him: “Me too.”

“Besides,” Jon reprised, “I knew Sansa will not want to stay neutral. Even if I might have agreed to Cersei’s request, I want her to wipe out all those who hurt her. I will not stand in her way, and I will not sit out that war.” For the first time, Jon did not look like a beaten-up puppy, and everybody took notice. He looked, in fact, quite like the contrary. He looked like an enraged wolf preparing to attack.

“You love your sister a big deal,” stated Jorah. “I remember her, a sweet and beautiful little girl with red hair. She was fascinated by Lynesse and me because I was a Northern knight and had a beautiful Southron wife. She looked very much like your brother Robb. They must have taken from Lady Catelyn…”

“Aye! I think you must have felt like you had children during your stay in Winterfell. We grew quite attached to you, either because you played with us, or because you told us beautiful stories!” chuckled Jon.

“What a sweet thing, Jorah! You spent time with the Stark children?” Daenerys was fascinated.

Jorah’s train of thoughts triggered by Jon’s statement and changed attitude could not be stopped, though. He had an intuition. _She is his **half-sister**_ , _and they were not too close then, except for the common interest in stories she shared with him and Robb. Now he wants to go to war for her. Reminds me of my cousin Alysane’s crush on me, and of many other things I’ve seen and heard. At least he does not seem like a Viserys. But will the other Northerners like it? I am not sure how **I** would feel about it. Weird._ “I think she will give you a hard time for some of the things you have done, but she will surely be thankful to have a brother who wants to go to war for her,” he kept his opinion to a minimum.

Tyrion preferred to show his empathy by offering a concrete way out, shoving away thoughts of Tysha and Shae: “So, I guess one should not give up until there is still something to do. Therefore, I suggest I go and plead to my sister. I know her, I know Jaime, and I know how to talk to people. It’s our last chance.”

Daenerys did not agree: “Are you trying to get yourself killed before the Dead arrive? Looking for a kinder way to end it?”

“Oh, no, Your Grace. I did not flee my cell in the Red Keep, sail to Essos in a crate, let Mormont kidnap and beat me, have slavers enslave me, and try to convince you to make me your Hand **_just_** to get back to the fate I tried so hard to escape. Cheer up, you all! ‘This is not the day I die’, as Prince Oberyn said the day he represented me in a trial for combat… and died! Oh, don’t mind my jokes. Now that we all agree on hating my sister, I really want to live. I know how to play my cards!” And with those words put together in an almost absurd monologue meant to be a statement, Tyrion approached the tunnel.

## Dragonstone, the Chamber of the Painted Table

How Tyrion had managed to “convince” Cersei, none of them knew. Of course, not even Tyrion knew he had not convinced her at all. However, the Targaryen court was reunited for what could be the last time in the Chamber at Dragonstone, making the last plans before leaving for Winterfell, and counting on the Lannister support.

“What can we say about the progress in mining, Jon?” asked Jorah.

“We have been mining for months now. Gendry recently helped a lot in improving the techniques and the performance as far as mining and weaponry are concerned. I think we have to do all we can do in these last days, and then hope it’s enough. I also want to send ravens to the maesters who are still alive all around Westeros, serving at the Citadel and in the remaining cities, asking them to collect dragonglass and Valyrian steel arms to be given to those who march or ride north.”

Jorah noticed Jon had a good strategic mind when it came to micro-decisions connected to fighting, resource allocation, and motivation and recruitment. His faults lay more in the macro-strategic aspects, apparently. His strength as a motivator reminded him of Daenerys. _Maybe it’s a youth thing._ “Excellent, Jon, thank you. Will you be sailing with the Unsullied and the rest of the court then?”

“Of course. It is very important that we arrive at White Harbour together and at Winterfell together. It sends a strong message about the potential and the hold of our alliance.”

“We are _not_ sailing all together, Jon.”

“Why?”

“I will be riding with the Dothraki, and we will meet on the Kingsroad. Somebody has to lead them, somebody who lived with them for long and speaks their language, not to mention who is now their new khal. And Her Grace will fly on Drogon, same as we decided when we went to King’s Landing. We will meet her at Winterfell. There are too many who still hate the Targaryens, even after all these years: all it takes is one angry man with a crossbow and some luck, and her silver hair standing out among people on the Kingsroad make her the perfect easy target for a new soon-to-be hero in the North.”

Jon stared at him in disbelief and disappointment. “That would be the entrance a conqueror makes, not an ally.”

“If we want the Northern Lords to accept Daenerys, we will have to let her meet them so that they get to know her. Seems like a hard thing to achieve if she does not live to see the day.” Daenerys had to suppress a chuckle at Jorah’s renewed display of sarcasm. How she had missed him at her side, challenging her in his own direct and honest way. She hoped poor Jon would learn from him as well. He was a good young lad and king, but he definitely lacked someone nagging at him, keeping him in touch with the harsh reality of the game of thrones. It sounded like his sisters were apt and willing to do so… but would he listen to them? And if he did, how much would he listen, considering how she herself often behaved towards Jorah and Tyrion?

Right now, she hoped Jon’s beaten-up puppy face was a sign of a lesson learned and accepted. She felt a little sorry: “Jon, I understand it is hard to feel like an ally when most of your proposals get rejected, but Jorah has been my strength for years, and I know he always has good counsel to give. I might decide otherwise, when I have something else on my mind, but it seems to me that his participation in Robert’s Rebellion has given him enough knowledge to let him know what I might be facing soon. We were born during that rebellion, and all we know about it is what others have told us. He, on the other hand, saw people fall and other people mourn the fallen. He saw the country in the aftermath of the war.”

Jorah nodded and smiled, then continued. “Queen Daenerys has also started training with my dagger while we sailed back south.” Davos tried to suppress a laughter at the involuntary innuendo, and Tyrion caught that and sneered. “I suggest she trains with the sword and with the bow too, as much as time and other duties allow her to do so. We should all help. We must be ready for any eventuality: she might have to defend herself, either here on Dragonstone or later on. I heard she already had to land with Drogon during a battle to remove a spear from the dragon’s side, and, apparently, Jaime Lannister took the chance to charge against her. In the future, we might not be lucky or quick enough to rescue her, and she does not want to be constantly considered like someone who needs rescuing. I would appreciate if you took some time to train with her too, Jon, so that she can compare styles and skills - Clegane, the Dothraki, you, and me. If anyone is interested, I will train with spears and pikes also: it has been a long time since I went bear hunting, and I think these weapons might be useful against the Walkers. You are welcome to join me.

Daenerys suddenly recalled two events very clearly, and the revelation made her hope for the best. “Besides the Unsullied, I have only seen two men throwing something like a spear with such precision and strength to kill with one single strike. You, when you saved me from the Harpy at Daznak’s pit, and the Night King, when he killed my child.” Sadness and love enveloped her, and she showed it with the hint of a smile veiled by melancholy.

The court endured Daenerys’ very personal praise to her husband, and agreed some training was due.

Daenerys reprised: “Jon, do you think we should camp somewhere at the Wall? Eastwatch, Castle Black?”

“So far, we haven’t heard worrying news from Bran, so I think we should stay at Winterfell as long as we can, to have our people eat, and rest, and train, and to produce more weapons. The women should also stay there – I mean those who do not mean to fight, of course. Later on, we could consider moving the troops to one of the unmanned castles, and reinforcing the manned ones. I guess it also depends on what happens when the Dead reaches the Wall at Eastwatch. The Wall should be protected by spells, as far as we know, but if the White Walkers know more about these spells than we do, we will learn it when they are near the Wall. We might even have to protect Winterfell itself and to make a stand there, if the worst should befall us.”

Daenerys looked at Jorah briefly. He nodded, and she concluded: “So, seat at Winterfell it is. I am looking forward to meeting your sisters, Jon. I think we will get along well.”

Jon nodded, and thought of his little, wild Arya and his beautiful, strong and fierce Sansa. Who would probably be raging mad at him.

## Jon’s room, Dragonstone, that night.

He was in the Lord’s room at Winterfell, snoozing on the floor. He suddenly felt like stirring his paws, and stretched and rolled a little. Then he looked up at his lady Sansa on her bed, and happily wagged his tail.

Sansa was awake too: she turned in his direction upon hearing the wagging tail hitting the floor, and observed him. “You wag your tail like a good dog,” she said affectionately, almost chuckling.

He stood up and went to her to nuzzle her hand with his snout. She scratched and cuddled him, lightly. It was so nice that he had to lean into her touch, and nudge for more. “You should teach some lessons to your master, you know? You communicate better, and you listen to me even though I am not your master and you are not even a dog.”

Her touch was incredibly sweet, and so was her voice. He licked her hand and nuzzled against it.

“Do you miss Jon? I do. I wish he were here. There is so much I have to tell him… the sooner, the better.”

He woke up upon hearing her mention his name, his heart beating madly. He felt like he did when he found himself alive again.

_I was… dreaming? No, I was warging. I warged into Ghost. I know it from Orell and Bran. If it was a dream, it felt too real. I was inside him._

## Dragonstone’s beach, some days later

Her khalasar was really huge, proud, and disciplined. Giving them a new reason to fight and asking them not to pillage savagely and not to rape had not been easy, but they were happy to show their courage and fighting skills nonetheless.

Her prince consort and Lord Commander and her khal was surrounded by their bloodriders, and they were waiting for her commands. The Dothraki could not understand why they used the word khalakka in the Common Tongue to address him, and Jorah had explained to her in turn that translating is not just transposing a word in another language: so it happened that he was a prince consort in the one language, and khaleesi Daenerys’ khal in the other.

She approached him, slowly, staring into his proud blue eyes.

“My queen.”

“My husband.”

He took her hands affectionately. “Are you sure you have enough food and firewood for the nex days?”

“Of course, my love. Do you think **_you_** have enough with you? Dragonglass, weapons, food?”

“Aye, but we will have chances to find some more along the way. I do hope Drogon and Rhaegal share something with you if needs be, although the idea of you sharing some unidentified meal with your dragons makes me shiver. How do you feel about your dagger and your sword? And the bow?”

“I will be all right, my bear. I trust my children above all. You, on the other hand… be safe. I order you to come back to me.”

“It sounds familiar.”

Daenerys only smiled. Jorah lifted her hands and put them on his chest. “I intend never to fail one of your orders again, khaleesi. So far, I am managing well.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. “I will meet you at Winterfell in two weeks.”

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, court manners be damned. “Be sure to be there,” she said hugging him. Letting the other go from that strong hug would be hard, they knew, but they relished it as long as it lasted.

She got back to her queenly self with some effort, and addressed the bloodriders. “Blood of my blood. Remember why we are here. Remember why we are heading north. Make me proud. Follow my khal, ride hard, and meet me at Winterfell.”

The khalasar cheered, and made for the ships.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope some of you have a curl fetish, because Jon's curls are coming back... see you (and them) in the next chapters!


	7. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winterfell, reunions, and surprises.  
> This is basically not only the end of my alternative season 7, but also the beginning of my alternative season 8.  
> Feat. hormones everywhere, and Jon's curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual disclaimers and requests apply.

## Somewhere in the Riverlands

 

Some rabbits and birds were roasting on skewers, and Jorah could already feel the taste of them in his mouth. The Dothraki loved hunting here: it was the kind of challenge they were looking for, smaller and quicker prey hiding in the woods rather than the big beasts of the open Dothraki sea. _They would love Bear Island and our bear hunts too,_ Jorah thought.

The near village had gladly supplied some ale and bread in exchange for some of the prey, some help with some due reparations, and for keeping the wolves away. _Not to mention the male company some of the women seem to appreciate_ , he thought while looking at the girls sitting by some of his most handsome riders, officially trying to improve their Common Tongue.

Jorah was happy: he was serving Daenerys by leading the khalasar in an impeccable way through Westeros, and he almost felt like the Lord of Bear Island again. He only missed his queen to be _completely_ happy, but he knew it would have been too dangerous to have her here with him. He would make up for all the times he missed when they would meet again at Winterfell. He could already see her jumping into his arms in the courtyard, cuddling against his chest; he could already feel their first kiss of their reunion…

He raised his cup of ale to a rider who was now standing up, led by his hand by a young woman, and chuckled observing the scene, then leaned to pick up a skewer.

His dinner was cut short by an announcement.

“Khal, we have come upon a weird man.”

_According to the Dothraki, almost every Westerosi is weird._ “Well, bring him to me.”

“He is a cripple.” _The war must have left a long trail of cripples across the land._

One of the scouts came forward, and had a golden thing in his hand that he was turning and beholding curiously, but with a greedy streak in his expression. Jorah stood up to see what that was.

_A golden hand._

Jorah had his dagger in his hand before he could even realise he had pulled it out. “Ser Jaime.”

The man himself appeared, brought along by two other scouts. “Lord Mormont.”

“I’m not a lord anymore. So, what brings you here, alone… without your Lannister armour? Were you trying to come and slit someone’s throat? I thought we had convinced you otherwise, for the time being. Oh, Kharbo, give me his golden hand. That is no prize for you.”

Jaime had still not thought about the words he should have said to the Targaryens and the Starks, and was caught utterly unprepared by the forced revelation of his business. Besides, he feared the consequences that could follow if Daenerys’ forces learned so early that Cersei would not uphold her part of the agreement: discouragement, maybe even a partial retreat from the north in order not to lose their footing in the south. It would not do. Cersei was not worth that.

“Let us just say I had some… major disagreements with Queen Cersei and with the commanders of the Lannister forces. So I decided to fight this war in ranks I found a better fit, and to ride ahead of anyone else. I am tired of being Tywin’s son, always living in the shadow of a golden lion, never shining for myself.” Jaime then had another intuition. “Besides, there is a man near here I put into a glorified jail, a man who needs to take back his lands and maybe send a few more forces north. Edmure Tully, Lord of the Riverlands.”

Jorah raised an eyebrow. “Why should I believe you?”

“I am a man alone amidst a Dothraki horde, without his good hand. You could slit my throat and be done with it now. Why would anyone risk my life like this, why would **I** risk my life like this, if I weren’t telling the truth?”

Jorah and Jaime exchanged stares. Jorah could sense Jaime was hiding something… but he also read in his eyes he was telling the truth as far as the nature of his presence and as far as Lord Edmure Tully’s state were concerned. So, he did what he felt best.

“Rest assured I or one of my riders **_will_** slit your throat if we so much as sniff something wrong.” He explained his decision in Dothraki, then returned to Jaime, and gave him his hand back. “So, about Lord Edmure. What do you suggest we do? Our queen ordered us to ride hard for Winterfell and meet here there. Any change to this plan would be disobeying her orders.”

“At the speed you have been riding, catching up to me despite having left considerably later, I would say it will be just a quick detour for you, leading to a brief parlay and to some more food, ale, and women. As soon as I have secured Lord Edmure, Lady Roslin, their child, and all the forces we can gather between Lannisport and the Neck, you will be free to ride. I will stay back to re-organise those forces and will reach you at Winterfell with Lord Edmure.”

## Winterfell, the Lady’s chambers, several days later.

 

Sansa was definitely very nervous. Maybe Bran, Arya, and Sam were too, considering the pending conversation with Jon, but she had far more reasons to be nervous than them.

First, there were some personal matters to settle between the Lady of Winterfell and the former King in the North, concerning their conflicting views. And probably some matters between her and Jon, too. In that _probably_ lay most of her nervousness already.

Second, she would meet the _other_ Targaryens. It meant seeing Lord Mormont again – who now styled himself Prince Jorah - , the man she affectionately recalled from her childhood memories as a sweet big knight, but whose name and memory were banished from Winterfell after his shameful deed. A man who, according to Jon, was indeed a good man, who had only been desperate, desperate for the woman he loved then, the beautiful Lady Lynesse. Along with this long-lost acquaintance would come his wife, a woman whose name alone commanded jitters, Daenerys Stormborn, scion of the House Targaryen, with two dragons. And Daenerys brought along sellswords, freed slaves, Dothraki, and Unsullied. She barely knew where all these people came from, and certainly had no idea about their culture and language, apart from some High Valyrian that probably did not help with the bastard dialects of the Free Cities.

Third, her former husband. He had apparently made it clear to Jon their marriage was void and he did not have any plans on resuming it… but she still was scarred by her past, and she feared someone might suggest they resume their union to strengthen ties. She was the mistress of Winterfell and she would never submit again if she could, but she still feared someone could make her submit, somehow, maybe without her even noticing it, successfully manipulating her into submission. She still recalled the narrow escape she had with Petyr. She still could fail.

Definitely, the fact that Jon was not their brother but their Targaryen cousin, heir to the Iron Throne – and Daenerys’ nephew besides -, was _not_ the most stressful factor in the welcome meeting they were ready to hold.

She was glad Arya decided to stay outside and admire Jon marching in and Daenerys arriving with her dragons. It should have been expected of her too, of course, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to stand up, go outside and wait. She preferred to sit in the hall beside Bran, and wait for Lord Yohn to bring the guests in.

## Winterfell, the battlements.

 

 “As hypocritical and false as it may sound, I must say it is a pleasure to meet you again, Jorah Mormont, considering all the… new circumstances.”

“I appreciate it, Lord Yohn. I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome back anyway. I fear many here in the North think I do not understand what I have done, but I do, I really do. As for me, it is a pleasure to meet you again indeed. Too many people have died during the war, too many familiar faces I will never see again.”

“I am sorry about your family. I guess you have heard…”

“Yes, I have. I hope to meet my cousin, the Lady Lyanna, soon. At least I will ask her for forgiveness in her heart, even on behalf of those whose forgiveness I will never get to hear.”

Arya intervened: “The Red Wedding has been avenged, rest assured.”

“So I have heard, my lady” let out Jorah with a grin.

“I would have preferred for you to use Needle to do that, not poison,” commented Jon.

“I stuck my share of Lannister men with its pointy end already, and I plan on killing more.” She turned back to Jorah: “When is Daenerys arriving?”

“I hope soon.” Jorah betrayed a certain nervous attitude. He missed her terribly, and he was also worried. He had wished to find her at the castle already upon his arrival. He gulped his steaming mulled wine, and looked at the sky again.

And there she was – he felt the heaviness leave his chest, and happiness fill him again. Two spots approaching gracefully in the pale sky appeared, and Arya’s jaw dropped, and she straightened up in excitement.

## In the Great Hall

 

Only a few of the Lords and Ladies were present in the hall – most of them had sent representatives and envoys, too busy with preparing their lands and people for the war in the north, and also not trusting themselves with their feelings towards the Targaryens,. Sansa felt relieved – it might keep unnecessary complications away. Although, to be honest, the matters they had to discuss soon required the Lords and Ladies to speak for themselves: it meant an official Council had to be called soon.

And they were finally there, as the sounds of excitement coming from the outside had already announced. Lord Yohn was the first to enter the room, followed by Jon and Davos, and finally by the Targaryens with Varys, Tyrion, and a beautiful woman from some country she could not guess, all guarded by a soldier with a spear – probably one of the famous Unsullied – and a few handsome and young Dothraki men – she could not help notice.

Jon was clumsy, silent, and visibly nervous. Ghost stood up and padded slowly towards him, sniffed him, nuzzled his hand, and curiously got back to his spot at Sansa’s feet before Jon could scratch him behind his ears. The Targaryens looked more at ease than Jon did, _a curious thing_ , she observed. Daenerys did not even look intimidated, just curious and excited.

Speaking of _handsome_ , she noticed immediately that a little girl definitely sees different things than a woman grown. Prince Jorah had a royal posture and stature, and looked as handsome as the Dothraki and Jon, in his strawberry blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and remarkable cheekbones. She found her spontaneous assessment strange, since she realised that the former Lord of Bear Island could be their father. But then again, Daenerys Targaryen was about a year younger than Jon, and apparently had no issue with Jorah’s age.

When he opened his mouth, she approved of Daenerys’ choice completely. “Lady Sansa, I see the sweet and beautiful girl I remembered has grown into a great and strong lady who managed to surpass her mother in beauty,” he told her with an enticing voice and with an honest and spontaneous appreciation as he took her hand to kiss. Tyrion murmured some mocking words in the background, and she let out a little giggle.

“I see you are still the sweet knight I remembered. Your words of appreciation are very welcome, considering that you are married to a woman known as the most beautiful of the world. But then again, you did say I surpass my mother’s beauty, not your wife’s. Welcome back, Jorah Mormont, and thank you for your heartfelt words about your apologies and your willingness to help the North. And welcome, Daenerys Stormborn. The North is happy for your unconditioned support. Welcome, Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys, and you all, my esteemed guests.” She turned her face to look at Jon, who was still astonished to hear Sansa joke with Jorah with that easiness – surely she must have learned it in King’s Landing. “ _Jon Snow_ apparently feels we need to give up the North’s independence out of gratitude nevertheless. We thank _Lord Jon_ for his esteemed opinion on the matter; however, the North is not his to give. He chose to become King by acclamation, what we could call election, and now has to accept all the consequences of said act. The matter is to be discussed by the Lords and Ladies of the North and of the Free Folk, himself included, of course. However, there are more important matters to discuss prior to that. Matters we will address in a formal council to be held as soon as possible.”

Jorah’s _I told you so_ looks were full of empathy, something like _I suspected this would happen, but I am sorry for you._ Jon didn’t know what to say, and looked like someone who had been punched in the belly.

It was Daenerys who helped him out. “I think too that Jon Snow has his own reasons to speak in favour of a united Westeros, but he also _knows_ our help is given _freely_ and he does not have to do anything to secure it. My consort and I have become close friends with him, and we came to appreciate him. And we thank you for your welcome, Lady Sansa. We will try to be model guests and allies while here.”

Sansa could sense some affectionate sarcasm behind Daenerys’ words, and decided to go along with it. “You are right, Daenerys. Jon is used to taking decisions, and always tries to do the best he can for his people and beloved ones. Unfortunately, _Lord Jon_ sometimes lacks specific knowledge of certain facts and dynamics, and can be very stubborn when he has something in mind. Many of us can _relate_ to this flaw sometimes, I imagine. Well, if there is nothing urgent we have to discuss, I would advise our guests are escorted to their rooms so that they can take possession of them. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, _Lord Jon_ will join me, Lord Bran, and Lady Arya in my chambers for an urgent meeting. Your old friend Samwell Tarly will also be present.”

Jon and Jorah looked at Sansa and asked “Samwell Tarly?” Daenerys looked at Sansa too, and felt like an iron fist getting hold of her stomach and squeezing it.

“Yes, your former brother from the Night’s Watch.”

“I am glad he is here. I owe him so much, and he is a nice fellow,” commented Jorah. Daenerys hid her true feelings by nodding at her husband.

“Why is he here, though? I ordered him as his Lord Commander to train as a maester and to come back to the Wall after doing so. What happened?”

“I think you should discuss it with him, Jon.” At least this time Sansa addressed him as usual, and he felt relieved.

**

Since no complaints had come about the accommodations, and since Daenerys and Missandei were already enjoying their bath, Sansa decided to have one last walk alone on the battlements, through walkways and balconies, trying to defuse the tension by looking at her castle, her seat, and her people. Feeling the connection to her family’s heritage, to her power and role, and remembering the day she and Jon had talked about rooms and chambers and winter coming: it all reminded her of who and what she was, and of what she had endured to become it.

Jon was finally here, and many, many thoughts had piled up in her mind. The revelation was due on the following day, and there was no postponing anymore. She briefly noted in her mind that Jon had not fallen prey to the beautiful Daenerys, as Petyr had suspected instead – Petyr could not know about Jorah and Daenerys, of course. Or should he have known? Or had he said that only to check how she would react to the idea of Jon marrying and bedding another woman?

There was no quiet and peace anymore around the castle, now that many people from other cultures were there. She could hear laughter, shouting, talking loudly. Northerners, Free Folk, Knights of the Vale, and now Daenerys’ armies too, all camping outside Winterfell.

However, as she reached a lower walkway inside one of the walls on the back, full of arrowslits, she reached a point where the voices she heard were far too clear to be just the echoes of the camps. Not to mention that some of them were in the Common Tongue, and one of them was definitely a known voice.

“What are they waiting for?” Jon asked with a mocking tone.

“Come on, Grey Worm. It’s just the same thing you used to do with the sand. Only this is snow, and it’s wet, and cold,” Jorah guffawed, and she heard Jon distinctly joining him in laughter. Then Jorah said something in another language, probably Dothraki – she remembered some Valyrian, and this language was definitely too guttural to be it.

She followed their voices, turned a corner, and, from a broader slit, she clearly saw Jon, Jorah, the Unsullied officer called Grey Worm, a few Ironborn, Unsullied, and Dothraki.

Jon, Jorah, the Ironborn, and the Dothraki were _stark naked_ , and Sansa could not bring herself to look away. They were diving in the snow, rubbing themselves with it, shivering, and laughing. Their clothes and mails as well as some linen covers hanged on a few trees and on their weapons stuck in the ground. The Unsullied seemed wary of the entire matter, although some of them had started undressing.

She should not have been watching, but she felt curious, and also suddenly _warm_. Jorah was _definitely_ not a man Daenerys could complain about, the Dothraki were the very image of youth, strength and power, and Jon… _her cousin_ …

…his torso was muscled like a maiden’s dream, lithe and powerful. His scars, signs of his courage and good heart, only made him look more attractive. His hair was freed of his bun – she noticed now how she hated that stupid bun - and his curls were wild and damp. Sansa could not lie to herself: she felt like she wanted to go down and help him rub himself with snow and untangle his curls, combing them with her fingers, threading through them.

She started suspecting she should get a hold on herself soon when she found herself openly comparing notes, concluding in a very instinctive way that Jorah and Jon were _very manly._ Jorah was taller, so maybe his _size_ was just a result of proportion – although the Dothraki weren’t small either, but not as well-endowed as he was -; Jon, however, was endowed too. She could not consider herself an expert on the matter, but, leaving her traumatic experience aside, she had read – and heard – enough tales, and therefore she had an idea about what should be going on under consensual relations. Besides, she could also infer something more, thanks to some information she got from Jon himself. Her handsome _cousin_ had written her in order to organise the arrival of Daenerys’ forces at Winterfell. He openly and strongly advised to assign the newlyweds Targaryens a room with good walls in order not to have them make a show for all Winterfell to hear, and hence she supposed that Jon might make a lady as happy as Jorah apparently regularly did to Daenerys.

“What did you tell them?” asked Jon, shaking Sansa out of her unladylike thoughts.

“I told them this might be the revenge for Qohor. I don’t know if you are familiar with the story…”

“Not really. Might be something for our next ale round. Anyway, I see they are not scared by the cold. I guess most Southrons would be.”

“The Dothraki value strength and courage above all. They would never pull back if challenged. I told them it’s about bravery, not about washing ourselves quickly and efficiently and saving on firewood. Same way Daenerys convinced them to cross the _poison water_ , which is how they used to call the sea.”

“You are a sly man, my friend.”

## Jorah and Daenerys’ room, shortly afterwards

 

As Daenerys was sitting on a furred rug by the fireplace, drying her long hair and admiring the beauty of the flames, Jorah entered the room, his clothes and belongings rolled up in his cloak, a cloth around his hip, only his boots on.

His chest hair had trapped some melting snow, his skin looked slightly damp here and there, and he had a smug face on. She also noticed the two weeks on the road had made him look more muscular than he did on their last night on Dragonstone.

“Did you come back from your bath like that, my bear, for all Winterfell to see?”

“Aye, my queen, but I did not take a bath. We washed ourselves in the snow.”

“Are you telling me you stripped naked, dived in the snow…”

“It usually suffices rubbing yourself with snow, but if you want to look brave you can dive too, of course.” She recognised the playful tone he used to admonish her when she had unwise ideas, now used by her knight for some equally playful provocation.

“Is it a tradition here in the North?” she replied in a mocking imitation of her most queenly voice, playing along.

“Well, it helps saving wood for more important tasks like heating rooms and cooking. It only takes a few seconds, after all, and you emerge very clean. It hurts a little bit: the cold burns, same as fire.”

_My wise advisor, and my bear._ “Did someone join you?”

“Jon, of course, a couple of Ironborn, a few Dothraki, a few Unsullied. The latter were particularly difficult to convince.”

“And why wasn’t I present, then? Must have been an interesting sight. I haven’t seen such a scene since we left Essos: handsome men stripping down naked and washing themselves,” Daenerys replied with a grin.

“I might try to make up for your loss, _Your Grace_ ,” and he removed his cloth, grinning as well.

“Come here, my love. You must be cold. And I missed you so much. I want to talk to you, to cuddle up to you, and of course to have you.”

He walked towards her, sat down on the furred mat beside her, kissed her affectionately while encircling her waist with his arm and pulling her to him, and removed his boots. “I missed you too, darling. I was also worried. Wondering whether you’d be cold, or hungry, or felt alone. Worried something might happen, or go wrong, and I wouldn’t know or be there for you, and you would be all alone to face it. I didn’t know if the dragons were enough to protect you from everything.” The provocative playfulness made way for his most tender display of love and protectiveness.

She joined him in protectiveness and tenderness: “I was worried too: you had a long and perilous road before you, in a country that has been at war for years. Now tell me about your journey. How I envied you and our khalasar, on the road again. I confess I miss the days we spent riding, sharing stories, travelling with our first khalasar. Some days I wanted to disobey you and fly out to search for you, and then ride beside you, but then I knew you meant what you said about the dangers I could encounter.”

“Well, we rode hard. We met Jaime Lannister, who was going to release Lord Edmure Tully and mobilise some men from the Westerlands and the Riverlands. I was a little wary of him, but I found out he was _truly_ there to help us in the war. We escorted him and got back on our track immediately.” There was no need to tell her all the details, at least not now. Time for that later. Her expression showed curiosity, but no remark was heard, so he went on. “The country has suffered a lot, as I imagined. Many people feared we were up to no good, and I had to make huge efforts to keep everything under control. In the end, though, many young ladies came to appreciate the Dothraki… you see, many men have died in arms, and these young, strong men, muscular, exotic, many of them handsome… they were something new, and they surely did not deny themselves to willing women who sought them out… I think you will have a more mixed population soon, my beautiful queen. Some of the women will have drunk moon tea, but some others might have wanted to replace sons or brothers they lost, I suppose.”

“Westerosi women seduced some of my riders?” Daenerys was very amused.

“Repeatedly. I think some of them were exhausted by the constant demands.” Jorah was even more amused.

“I hope **_you_** told them you were only mine, my bear.”

“How do you know I got some proposals too?”

“Because we ladies all have eyes, and you did not mention coming across exclusively blind women,” replied Daenerys with sarcasm.

“You know there has been only you for years, my love. Rest assured. I pleasured myself thinking of you quite often, though” and he kissed her neck.

“I did the same,” and she kissed her jaw.

“Mmmh… why don’t you show me?”

“I thought you liked being the one who touches me in every possible way.”

“Of course I will join you soon. I have missed you too much not to… but I would love to see you touch yourself, now that I have that image in my mind.” He kissed her languidly.

She answered by removing her robe and nightshift looking into his eyes intensely while sitting up on her knees. Then she put her hands on her shoulders, and slid them down over her teats, kneading them and teasing them a little, and moved further down. And Jorah was finally completely warm again.

**

They were still cuddling up under the furs on the bed. The rug beside the fireplace had been an amazing place to make love, stretched out on it in the romantic light of the burning logs and looking into each other’s eyes, but was not comfortable enough for the tender aftermath of love. So Jorah had picked up Daenerys and brought her to the bed, hugging her affectionately, and she had put her arms around his shoulders and neck, resting her head on his chest as she loved to do. “You truly have grown more muscular. It seems like being a khal is beneficial to you,” joked Daenerys while sensually stroking his chest. “And your chest hair seems to be coming back, too.” She lifted her head briefly to give him a peck on his breastbone.

“I take it you are very happy,” and he kissed her forehead. “ ** _You_** too look even more beautiful than your usual impossibly beautiful self. I am afraid I will seduce you many times, maybe in between some sleep.” He kissed her, and grazed her teats – he still could not have enough of them today. “What did you do all that time alone on Dragonstone? I mean besides _thinking of me_ and of riding again with your khalasar.”

“I talked to my dragons, I had a few strolls here and there, I bathed in the sea…” She stroke his chest and his back affectionately.

“Now that you tell me, I think I would have loved to taste the salt on your skin. It’s a pity you had a bath before I could make love to you.” Another kiss, this time on her neck, reinforced his statement.

“Jorah Mormont, you have a dirty mind,” she stated with a satisfied smile.

“Says the woman who wants to watch her knights and soldiers washing themselves, only to attack her husband fiercer than ever afterwards. And do not complain: you love my dirty mind.”

“I do. Well, I hope I can grant you your wish in the future, my bear. Maybe we could share my next visit to the bathtub, though.”

“As enticing as it sounds, I fear we might not be considered ‘model guests’, if we do that. Lady Sansa is clearly quite worried about what’s about to come, and those worries are heavying her soul. One could see it on her face. I would not have her to be embarrassed by us acting as if we were on a journey of pleasure rather than on a war campaign. Besides, other guests be angry at us for taking too long in the tub…”

“Lady Sansa seems very worried, indeed. I wonder what’s in store for poor Jon tomorrow.”

“Well, Sansa put it quite diplomatically, but it’s clear that – no matter what the council decides or what we require – he is and will always be no more than **_a_** Lord of the North. I suppose you have noticed she clearly did not address him as ‘King’ anymore but stressed ‘Lord Jon’ a couple of time instead. But… she did not present herself as Queen, and did not accept us as Queen and King. I think that they have already discussed the matter among siblings and Northerners, and that he has been removed from his throne before any other external factor or force could do it. I did not expect her to address us as royals, and as I suspected she didn’t, but she divested Jon of his roles, and she repeated that all matters concerning the North would be discussed in a council, a measure Jon knew nothing about…”

“You are incredible! I hadn’t put all these things together in a way that makes so much sense. Sure, Sansa seemed to have something against Jon’s decision, but I hadn’t drawn a conclusion. I thought it was more of a private matter between the two siblings. My sweet advisor!” and she kissed him on his chest.

“You are incredible **_always_** , Mother of dragons!” he stroked her back tenderly, “But you are young, and you are more of a conqueror and a leader than a politician. It’s only natural that you should not notice these small details.” _Besides, I grew very curious about Jon and Sansa’s interactions._

They hugged tightly as to reinforce their reciprocal admiration.

“I am so happy here with you that it does not even look like we are at war.” Daenerys felt really strange: she was a queen, and yet she could enjoy those tender and passionate moment with her own Lord Commander and advisor, her knight and husband.

“Even at war, there is time to rest, unless one is caught in the middle of a massive battle that never seems to end. I hope it does not come to that, honestly, but we cannot be sure. These are not ordinary enemies. But you should remember from your first khalasar that even in a society that is constantly at war there is time to spend with friends and loved ones.” His tone switched from his advising one to his most affectionate one with that last sentence.

Daenerys thought about the nights she spent talking with Jorah, her khas, her handmaidens, about the brief moments with Drogo – moments that now paled in front of what Jorah gave her – and, of course, about the days with Jorah at her side, riding and talking. She had already admitted she missed the riding with Jorah and friends, but recalling the whole experience made her feel so many different things all at once. “I fear being a khaleesi in my own right is better than being a queen. At least I got myself the right khal, one who can live like the Dothraki,” and she squeezed Jorah, who chuckled. “I always knew you would not like being a queen. You are too clever for that. Nobody would like being a ruler of a big country. But you _are_ a queen…”

“A khaleesi” she replied half-jokingly.

“Do you mean to make Westeros more Dothraki or do you just mean to rule in a more Dothraki style?” Jorah hadn’t missed the meaning of her reply.

“Being more a khaleesi than a queen could be positive: fewer expenses at court, more connection to my people…”

“Some of the costs might come back in form of guards. Westerosi need money to live, and will not guard you just for honour. But I guess one could find a solution…”

“You are not opposing me, Jorah Mormont?” she japed.

Jorah backed a little to look at her. “My queen, there is nothing to criticise in your general idea. It’s just something that needs thoughts and planning. I know very well what happens when one tries to replicate another lifestyle without planning and thinking.” He caressed her cheek. “But probably we should talk about these matters when… when you are on the Iron Throne.”

She hugged him again. She could not find the words to express how she loved him, and she put it all in her hug, and in the nuzzling of her face on his chest and neck. He reciprocated the tenderness by tightening the hug and leaning his head onto hers, caressing her. However, he was soon aroused again by the feel of her soft skin under his hands, and by her body against his. She noticed, and reacted in the same way, his hands roaming over her in a more sensual way than before.

“Your baths in the sea have made your skin irresistibly soft.” He kissed her, then gave the same attentions to her neck and shoulder. “I know we should rest, but I want you again, my queen.”

She rubbed herself against him, shivering. “I want you too.” He pushed her to roll her on her back underneath him, captured her mouth, and his hands went to her teats to fondle them, grazing over her nipples. She was already aroused, and still wet from their previous round. “Now,” she added. She parted her legs and arched her hips as he kissed her deeply, and he slid inside her immediately after, knowing that this time he would last for quite a long time, and that afterwards they would just fall asleep in each other’s arms.

## The morning after, in front of Sansa’s door.

 

Jon stood in front of Sansa’s door, nervous, worried, and feeling very guilty. He had not slept well, and he could have an idea of what expected him. Sansa had not declared herself queen, and Bran had not taken the lordship upon him. Yet he, _Lord Jon Snow_ , had to discuss “urgent matter” with his siblings and with Sam, as per _orders of the Lady of Winterfell._

Was he to be sent back to the Wall? It could be the best course of action, after all. It would also explain why Sam was here at Winterfell, waiting for him.

It was now time to knock, finally. He could not continue standing there like an idiot, gaping at a piece of wood.

**

“I… am sorry… who… what… no, I cannot believe…”

“It’s true, Jon. My visions are real, you know that. I told you about the Night King marching towards Eastwatch. I told Sansa and Arya about Littlefinger. And I revealed many other things as well. Sam’s help was precious, of course, but I saw everything.”

“Father… **_Lord Eddard_** lied to me all this time.”

“To protect you. He did that to protect you”, Arya answered this time. “You know Father loved us all, and always wanted the best for us.”

Jon listened to her, and calmed down a little. “I am… Lyanna and Rhaegar’s legitimate son? And what did my mother tell Father, I mean, Lord Eddard…” Jon had his hands threading between his hair.

“She told him how much she loved you, how much she regretted not living to see you grow up, and how much Robert would hate you if he knew. She made Father promise to protect you. And she told him the name she had chosen for you. Rhaegar thought you would be a girl, and you would have been named Visenya. Lyanna decided to name you after a Targaryen she liked. Since Aegon was one of your brothers already, and since Baelor Breakspear had a namesake no one really likes – Baelor the Blessed - , she opted for Maekar. Father has obviously given you a more anonymous name, related to him and not to the prince, but in truth you are Maekar Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna… and heir to the Iron Throne.”

Astonished, Jon did not say a word.

It was Sansa who finally wanted to speak the word out. “We are cousins.”

“And I am not a bastard. And my mother was highborn, and loved me.”

Arya added: “And Daenerys is your aunt. You could ask her for a dragon.”

“Arya!” Sansa did not approve Arya’s sweet attempt at lightening up the atmosphere.

Jon had to know: “And… no one else knows?”

“Well, Gilly knows,” answered Sam.

“But the Lords…”

“No, they don’t. I just told them you gave up your kingship for reasons you wanted to discuss, and I accepted to wait for you to decide what to do. But formally **I** rule the North now. I would not have done it, but since it’s quite evident I will rule as soon as we tell the truth – and we **_will_** tell the truth, considering you told everyone you pledged to Daenerys – I wanted to accelerate the process.”

“Did anybody challenge your title by mentioning Bran?”

“I am on a wheelchair, and am considered a sort of religious – or mad - person with visions, not a suitable Lord.”

“So… if I hadn’t knelt to the Targaryens I could still keep my identity a secret…”

“Probably you might.”

“Which means you are pissed at me.”

Sansa snapped. “Shouldn’t we be? You took your usual impulsive decisions. You ignored every single piece of advice I gave you. You were ready to give up the North without asking anybody, just because you think, and I quote, ‘Daenerys and Jorah will be the best rulers Westeros has ever known’? I am not questioning their value, and they do seem valuable allies, but it’s not for you to decide. Tell Lady Lyanna you knelt to a Targaryen, who by the way happens to be married to the man who bankrupted her family, and see if she still keeps you in her esteem: you know she will be one of the hardest to convince. And what about that madness you lead beyond the Wall? Without even telling the Lady of Winterfell and your _siblings,_ who were longing to see you again? Behaving the same way you behaved while fighting the Boltons once again, ignoring any strategic thought and playing the hero? Why does Daenerys even talk to you, since she lost a dragon thanks to you? Why do you say you want to protect me, and then ignore every single piece of advice I gave you?” Sansa was almost crying.

“I am sorry… Sansa, are you crying?”

“I think I am… Jon, I know you don’t mean it ill, but sometimes you don’t notice how much you hurt… people, the very people you mean to protect, or to work with.”

“I am sorry, I really am. I already had my lessons from Daenerys and Jorah.” Jon stood up and hugged Sansa tightly. “I will do anything you ask of me… but please don’t tell anybody I am a… Targaryen. I am not a Targaryen. I was raised as a Stark. I don’t want to have anything to do with the Iron Throne.”

Samwell suggested: “Presenting yourself as ‘the bastard who spit on his new title’ is not helping you out of this either. You might be safe because your cousins – or siblings – protect you, but you will still face some form of retribution from the others. Remember what happened to Robb, and I mean all of it. The fact that Daenerys does not want anyone to bend the knee anymore does not matter: you betrayed the Northerners’ trust. If you don’t want to be a bastard – and I remember you never liked being one -, you have to tell them who you are.”

“What about going back to the Night’s Watch? You should be heading there too, in fact.”

“You would prefer going back to the Wall to living as a free man with a legitimate name? Jon, you don’t have to _be a Targaryen_ , whatever that means to you. The point is just being free to choose. What you do with your name is not important. Right now, we have to rally people to fight the Dead. Don’t you think being **_Jon Targaryen_** instead of Jon Snow could help? I said ‘Jon’ because I suppose you will not start answering to ‘Maekar’ all of a sudden.”

Jon thought about it for a while, and suddenly had a revelation. “You are right. We will tell everybody. But first allow me to call my newfound relatives to tell them.”

**

Daenerys took it in a very strange way. She touched his face and said “You… are my brother’s son. My nephew. We are family.” Jorah understood perfectly what she felt: he knew her all too well. She missed having a family, and a nephew - not to mention the son of that brother everybody admired up until the Lyanna incident - was the kind of family she could appreciate. Especially since she had no remaining ties to her family, and since they would never have children thanks to the curse they received from Mirri Maz Duur the day they entered that tent.

Unfortunately, she seemed to miss one important issue in the revelation, and he wondered how she would react upon connecting the facts.

Meanwhile, feeling a sudden impulse of curiosity, Jorah put his hands on Jon’s shoulders, looked at him, and confirmed: “You **_are_** Lady Lyanna’s son. Now that I know it, I can see it.”

“You knew my mother well?”

“Aye, you see… your mother liked us Mormonts very much, due to the fact that Bear Island trains boys and girls alike to fight and to do whatever they want. She would have been the perfect Bear Island girl. So she admired us, and we were all fond of her. My aunt was happy to name one of her daughters after her – the one she had after the war – or at least the version we were told up until now. Your mother was a remarkable young lady. Beautiful, stubborn, wild, she could ride and fight… ”

“Jorah! Did you have a crush on _Lyanna Stark_?” Daenerys was a little astonished, but overall amused.

Jorah felt like a boy caught stealing cake. “I fear I might have had… but I was not the only one.” and he shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

Daenerys shook her head chuckling, and Jon raised his eyebrow. Jorah reprised: “You look very much like her. You are lucky nobody ever suspected the truth, or anyone would have seen you look like Lyanna – and Brandon - and not, in fact, like Lord Eddard. The darker curls alone would have been a giveaway. Also the more refined features and the shorter build. Unfortunately, I only saw Prince Rhaegar twice, and I cannot tell you if you have something of him in you, but your mother doubtless lives in you. You also seem to share stubbornness, naivety and _peculiar_ decision-making with _both_ your parents.”

“Well, _uncle_ , I hope you are ready to change your judgement soon, because I already have made a decision. And it is that, since I am the heir to the Iron Throne, I name Sansa Queen in the North, and I relinquish **_my own_** claim into the hands of my Aunt Daenerys. Because I don’t care for the Iron Throne, I know nothing about King’s Landing, and I don’t want to leave the North.”

Sansa gasped. Daenerys and Jorah looked at each other, and then again at Jon. “And what will you do, then?” Jorah asked.

“We are all here for one reason. Past that, I will see if I can find a place to live in peace, to help my cousins, and my people. I will help you, too, of course, but I will never leave the North for good. Fighting Cersei is something I owe to Sansa and to you as well. But the North is my home. I am only happy not to be a bastard anymore. And I am happy I finally have a title I can give up as I please. I suppose the new Queen in the North will have a keep and some land for me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter MIGHT take a little longer to come out, since I am really busy with setting up my business, I also have to finish chapters for my two other fics, and life gets in the way.  
> Feel free to drop suggestions - I am not saying requests because I don't do requests, but I will gladly listen to suggestions!


	8. Family matters - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon knows who he is, and has to slowly rebuild his relationship to his family, the old and the new one. How will he fare?  
> This is actually one huge chapter I had to publish in two parts for better readability, Part I (chap. 8) and Part II (chap 9).  
> This first part is very Jon-centric.  
> TW for both parts: mention of several past traumatic experiences and of deeply emotional issues (rape, abuse, violence, dark magic, exploitation, infertility). Nothing too explicit, but if you see a paragraph taking a darker turn, and feel uncomfortable, skip a few of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with chap. 7 I picked up many things from the books as well, such as swearing ("the Others take you"), a few details, the names...  
> I also amended D&D's mistreatment of poor Elia (as you will see) and Jon's name choice.  
> The same goes for the characters: with every line I increase my freedom in making them more like their book counterparts. Especially for Jon, it is a good thing (S7 Jon was painful to watch).  
> The usual disclaimer about typos and so on apply.

## Outside Winterfell

 

After searching for him for a while, Jorah saw his newfound nephew outside the walls, in the company of the dragons, as he had suspected. _Definitely not the right choice to keep his identity a secret until the official announcement_ , Jorah’s wise inner voice suggested in his head, immediately silenced by his emotional side, more understanding of the inner turmoil he must have been in.

Jon was trying to touch Drogon and Rhaegal, and was talking to them. They looked a little curious about the whole thing, but they were openly _sniffing_ him, and seem not to feel threatened or to behave in a threatening way.

As he approached too, the dragons took notice and turned to their stepfather, acknowledging his presence. Jorah stopped a few steps away from them. “It seems like they recognized you. You probably smell like a Targaryen, judging by how they are behaving.”

“What about you? They are your wife’s.”

“But I have no Targaryen blood. You know your family tried to keep bloodlines pure for generations, and the first Targaryens meddled with magic, including blood magic. This means you have something in your blood. They sure know me – I was the first man they saw, I was by their mother’s side for long, and I even fed them when they could stand in Daenerys’ hands. They respect me and know I love their mother, it seems. But that’s all. I even doubted one could tame them, in the beginning. And believe me, it took some time to Daenerys to have them stop burning and eating whatever they wanted. I would never touch them. I rode Drogon because Daenerys ordered him to let us mount him, to save us all.”

“I already petted Drogon once. Now that I think of it, it was instants before you came back to Daenerys.”

“ ** _You petted Drogon?_** And Daenerys did not say anything?”

“I suppose your arrival was far more important to her, and now we all know why. But she did make me say they are, well, she used the word ‘beautiful children’. I chose to go with ‘gorgeous beasts’. Now I can understand why it… he… how do you refer to a dragon?” Jon was, at least, in a mood good enough to joke.

“According to Daenerys, they are males and have male names. I told her dragons are actually neither male nor female, but when she has a fixation, it’s hard to make her listen. I know she believes me, but still wants to act as if they were males. I fear I understand why.”

“She told me they are the only children she will ever have. Something to do with that?”

“Aye. She lost a boy once.” Jorah saddened, and Jon preferred not to ask further. He could infer all the things that such an event could mean to the couple even without hearing the whole story. Jon also realized that, as strange as it was – considering he was almost a year older than Daenerys -, he was now the most akin thing to a child that Daenerys and Jorah could ever have. He had to take into account the possibility that Lyanna Mormont might not want to have anything to do with her estranged cousin, thus making him their closest young relative. The few interactions they had since the announcement had already shown a change in their attitude towards him. He didn’t know if he had to feel embarrassed because they were treating him almost like their little boy or happy because he had new relatives who were very keen on showing him their attachment.

Jorah wanted to change subject. “So, do you feel a bond with them, to Rhaegal at least? They listen to people, they are intelligent, as all animals are. But for them to behave accordingly and to really accept you, it takes more than not harming their mother and talking to them.”

“I am not sure. What would that bring to me? I already have Ghost.”

“Another dragonrider at war could make a difference. I apologise for being practical-minded, when you probably have other things on your mind, but we all know we have not come here to spend some leisure time with our families.”

“You are right. I don’t know, we… will see. I still feel too strange about it. Lord Eddard lied to me. Yet one could also say he never dishonoured himself and his wife. But I feel no connection to the Targaryens whatsoever. The deceased Maester Aemon at the Wall and Daenerys were the only ones I ever met. The only thing I find comforting in this whole matter is that my mother loved me, and would have wanted to live for me.”

“What did Bran see, exactly?”

“She died of birth complications – she had fever, and could not stop bleeding -, but had enough time to ask Lord Eddard to protect me from Robert and to nurture me. She said she loved me… and my father.”

Jorah smiled sadly. “She did not deserve to die like that. She deserved a long life, with her horse, her secret sword, her prince – who was an honourable man and not a kidnapper, after all - , and you, a healthy and strong boy. She was beautiful, funny, wild, and full of life. I cannot imagine her  - among all women - dying of childbirth, like my poor first wife, who at least never was as strong as your lady mother.”

“It seems like life is unfair. Tell me about my mother _._ ”

Jorah smiled. “Lyanna decided that myself and my would be her new friends the day she learned from her maester about Bear Island, its story and its customs. I was a young lordling then, and she was a girl of… probably not even ten. Since then, she had always a soft spot in her heart for us, and she sought us at every feast or meeting. We reciprocated the fondness: it was impossible for us not to like her. As Daenerys cleverly observed, I admit that when she grew into a beautiful and wild young woman I could not help but develop a little crush on her. I loved my first wife, but we married out of duty, not of passion, and you can imagine that for her to steal Robert Baratheon’s and Prince Rhaegar’s heart she had to be a remarkable woman. She could be the ultimate lady, of course – Lord Rickard, your grandfather, was very strict -, but often chose not to be one. My last memories of her are of the fated tourney: she came to share a few drinks with us here and there. On the first day she even joked about fleeing her impending marriage to Robert Baratheon and retreating to Bear Island seeking out my House’s protection. I stupidly blurted out ‘I am sure there is nothing you have to fear from your new life at Storm’s End. Every man will want to make you happy, Lady Lyanna,’ and she simply smiled with a sadness in her eyes and kissed my cheek without a word. She told me I was a sweet man. I should have **_known_** she had **_not_** been kidnapped. She was not the kind of woman one could simply take away to do as one pleased with her, and she had given signs she did not want to marry Lord Robert. Maybe I should have told Brandon and Ned, but who knows if they would have listened. Oh, and I am sorry I got to remember her kiss on my check and you didn’t. Yet another unfair situation.”

A gasp and a sigh made them notice Daenerys, who had been snooping on them, curious to see her husband and her nephew interact as such in the presence of her children. “I am sorry, it’s such a sad story, Jorah.”

“It is. She deserved to live happily ever after with your brother. Instead, he got killed by a whoring drunkard, right under my nose, and she was denied even the joy of seeing her handsome boy grow up, robbed of a life she would have never thrown away as many of us instead do.” Jorah spit out all his bitterness at the stupidity of life, remembering all the terrible things that had befallen most of those who attended Harrenhal.

Daenerys let out another stream of tears. Jorah approached his wife and hugged her, then turned to Jon with Daenerys still in his arms. He noticed he was trying hard not to cry, so he took Daenerys by the waist and walked to him, then put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Your father would have loved you and admired you, and your mother loved you till her last breath. They would love to see you now, Jon, with all you have done. And when you look into a Myrish glass, think about how much you look about your mother. Except for the eyes: yours are darker.”

Daenerys stirred up, and decided to look at Jon’s eyes as well. “Jorah, could they be my brother’s eyes?”

“My love,” and he stroked her hair, “I must have seen your brother only a few times, and most of those times he had a helm on his head. I would not know. I don’t remember him having pale eyes like yours, but your family has the famous violet eyes…” and he looked at Jon too. “Do you think it could be some dark… indigo?”

Jon felt incredibly embarrassed, and the couple noticed. “I apologise, Jon. Daenerys has always felt very attached to Rhaegar’s memory. And you know there is nothing I would not do for her.”

The dragons simply looked at the trio, probably thinking them the funniest dragonlords the world had ever seen.

“When will the Great Northern Council be held?” asked Daenerys, still cuddling against Jorah’s chest.

“Sansa says we are waiting for Lady Mormont, Lord Glover and many others.”

Jorah was a little curious about _one specific Lord_ nobody had seen in a while, but whose name was now acutely present, virtually looming on them. “Is Lord **_Howland Reed_** by any chance attending too? I know he hasn’t been seen outside his lands in years – believe it or not, from the fated expedition to the mountains of Dorne -, but I would rather say Sansa and you should **_demand_** he comes. Not only do I think the White Walkers’ threat concerns his lands as well, but I also feel like he could corroborate young Brandon’s and Sam’s testimonies. It almost makes me suspect that he never left Greywater Watch on Lord Eddard’s orders. He might have let something slip accidentally, so he was confined by his liege-lord. Or maybe something that happened the day they retrieved you left his mark on him, in his soul, or perhaps he felt guilty about something.”

Jon was thankful. “Jorah, thank you very much. I guess Bran is… too detached from his Stark self now that he is a powerful greenseer to suggest we summon him. He is more obsessed with the Night King than me. I will tell Sansa to issue a formal request. I don’t care if we have to postpone the Council. Lord Reed has to present himself.”

“I don’t know much about the current members of House Reed, but I surely find rather _peculiar_ that a man who is the only witness of Ser Arthur, Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell and Lady Lyanna’s death along with Lord Stark to come back from Dorne never leaves his home again afterwards. Surely someone must have suspected something was off! And… I have met people who have visions and magic powers before, but has Bran truly lost all cunning? I remember a few sorcerers who had more cunning than many kings. And even if Bran does not concerns himself with worldly matters anymore, couldn’t Sansa or this Samwell think of summoning him immediately?” Daenerys was quite surprised the suggestion had to come from her husband.

“Daenerys, as I said, we have never seen the man in person, so I guess to Sansa it must have felt like summoning a ghost, if she even thought of it at all. I suppose Jorah recalls him from the Rebellion, and finds the idea of summoning him more… relatable? Or maybe she thought the announcement of the Council might have sufficed to make him attend in person, considered the circumstances that are already known?”

Jorah and Daenerys raised their eyebrows in synchrony, then she decided to change the topic of discussion. “Well, I do look forward to meeting all these Northern Lords and Ladies, Lord Howland included. Are you nervous, Jon?”

“Same as you, I think. But, to be honest, I am more nervous about talking privately to my siblings-cousins. I haven’t seen Bran and Arya in years, and now they seem strangers to me. And I have to talk to Sansa. She’s pissed, I can tell. But now… would you accompany me to visit my mother in the crypts?

***

And so the trio went to the crypts of Winterfell to pay their respect to Lyanna Stark. For Daenerys, it was a new experience. “My brother Viserys **always** said Rhaegar and Lyanna were in love. I never knew what to think: Viserys had very… peculiar ideas and certainties, as Jorah probably remembers. Now I know he was right, at least in that. It’s only sad she has to rest here, in this dark place, far away from my brother, who was cremated as per our custom.”

Jorah asked himself spontaneously if anyone knew where Prince Rhaegar’s ashes were scattered, then thought that it was probably a useless question, with no one left to answer it. He replied to his wife’s remark: “Lyanna loved her brothers too, so I think she would be glad to rest here too. And she was a woman of the North through and through. I think even Rhaegar knew that, or she would not have married her in front of a heart tree, according to Northern customs.”

Jon looked at the statue and listened to his aunt and uncle in silence. He touched the stony features of the woman, and then finally ventured: “Jorah, did she look a little bit like this statue?”

“A little bit. As I said, look at yourself in a Myrish glass and try to imagine a woman with your features. I guess someone must have told you before you are a pretty boy?”

Jon chuckled. “In fact, yes. Especially Tormund.” Jorah joined him in laughter. “Of all people…” he commented. Jon then brought a hand again to the statue, almost as to excuse himself of the lighter mood. “My mother,” he almost whispered.

Jorah did an instinctive thing, and caressed Jon’s head, as he would do with his son. Jon looked at him with a confused expression, and Jorah simply explained: “You are my nephew by law.”

“ **Now** you don’t look like the Old Bear.”

“You are right. We were very different for some things. But he wasn’t always a harsh man either, believe me.”

Daenerys took the occasion to hug Jon. “Our nephew, Rhaegar’s son.”

“So, I am welcome into the family, it seems.”

***

After so much time with the other Targaryens, Jon knew that he could not continue pestering Jorah by requesting all memories of his mother, Eddard, Brandon, , as well as the few memories of Rhaegar he and Daenerys so desperately wanted to dig out of his brain. Thus, Jon sought out Arya, who would be the easiest Stark relative to address, especially considering the warm, tight and prolonged hug she had reserved him upon seeing him.

He found her with Gendry, after hearing from Sandor that she had been a _pain in the ass_ _as usual_ upon meeting him again. He discovered that Arya and Gendry were long-lost acquaintances who had first met the day Eddard was executed in King’s Landing. The two had shared many adventures and endured hardness, war, and many things he wished his little Arya had not witnessed. He also noticed the two looked at each other a little too much. Understandably: Arya was now a young wild beauty, and Gendry had inherited some of Robert’s best known and most successfull features, highlighted by his work attire and by the dirt of the smithy. _Gods, I hope I don’t have to give him advice on… how to make her happy. I will send him to my eager uncle if he asks, there!_

Arya wasn’t too different from the little tomboy _sister_ he remembered… and yet she was a different person entirely. For all her Arya-ness, she sometimes looked distant, and also strangely reverent towards her experience as an assassin.

“I always knew you would become, well, dangerous. I am a little… surprised at what you do, though.”

“You should have seen Sansa’s face when she found my masks!” and she laughed wildly as she used to do.

Jon tried to ignore the voice in his head that said _I would have not reacted very differently_. “You would have been great companionship on the Wall. You would have had the time of your life,” he chuckled.

“Hey, will you train with me now, Jon? We can finally do it! I already trained with Brienne and Podrick, and I will train with Gendry soon! It’s fun!”

“Only if you promise not to stick me with the pointy end! You know I still love you. You will always be my little Arya!” _Even if you ‘train’ with Gendry._

They both laughed together, and hugged, and for a little while Jon thought little Arya Underfoot was back. Likewise, Arya felt like old Arya again at seeing him laugh, his smile reaching his ears, and his eyes twinkling.

**

He found Sansa in the Lord’s solar, going over some records and taking notes. She was very dedicated. And _beautiful,_ she was even more beautiful than his much praised aunt in the strange light made by a small window open on a wintery landscape and by some unrefined candles.

“I hope I am not disturbing the Queen in the North.”

She put down her records, parchments, and quill and looked up. “You think now it is all over, all forgotten. You and your _aunt_ tell me you made some mistakes because you wanted to protect me and your people, but you are sorry, you say you will make me a Queen, and everything will be all right.”

Sansa wasn’t impolite, but she was firm, and Jon realized that he really knew nothing, because, in fact, he **_had_** hoped it was all over, all cleared. “To be honest, I thought it would almost settle it all. You know… you know me…”

“I know you always mean it well. But I thought our repeated discussions, especially the one we had before you left, taught you a lesson, and that is that I might need protection and help sometimes, or advice, or help, **_as we all do_** given the right circumstances, but I am also a woman grown, and not a naïve damsel constantly in distress. Why is it so difficult for you to stop and think about things, about people, about their reactions? To confide in other people? To be sly if it is required? But maybe I should not be so harsh on you today. I just hope… now that you know that Father was actually your uncle, that you are able to evaluate his lordship style and his personality in a more objective way, without desperately trying to imitate him in everything. And I hope you can make peace with your story. We are still family, you know. And I will never forget all that you did for me, that you almost killed Ramsay with your own hands for what he had done, that your threatened Petyr…”

“You know that? Who told you?”

She had blurted it out. Now there was no coming back. “I saw you.”

“You were… spying on me?”

“I wanted to talk to you before you left, so I followed you.”

“Oh.”

Neither knew how to address the fact. So, for the first time, they spontaneously agreed not to address it further, and left it hanging there, as something that happened. Same way as their blushing happened in that precise moment.

“So, you are cousin Jon. Jon Targaryen.”

“It sounds terrible. I will never get used to the ring of it.”

“I suppose Father never wanted you to find out, in order to protect you. He could have at least told you as soon as King Robert died: you were at the Wall, protected by the Watch. Why didn’t he? Now that I think of it, you really learned from him.”

“Do you think I should learn more about Rhaegar now, and become more like him then?”

“Or **_Aunt Lyanna_** , maybe. I think that would help you more than anything, since you want to make a Queen in the South and a Queen in the North.” She finally smiled, although there was a distinct mocking tone in her smile. Affectionate, but mocking.

“Jorah remembers her well. He has already told me many things.”

“He has always been a sweet man, even when we were children. It’s a pity he did… what he did. Father never forgave him.”

“He never forgave that Father… I mean, uncle Eddard never forgave him as well.”

“It’s terrible how sometimes we get angry at people who are actually good, and sweet, for things they do for love or survival, or for many reasons they feel like they are the right ones.” Sansa spoke of Jorah, but suddenly realized it was fitting for Jon as well.

“It is. There should be a way of telling them something was wrong without harming, undermining, or destroying the relationship.”

“Jon! This time you win.” Sansa struggled to keep a solemn face.

“This time you walked right into it. Don’t blame me, Your Grace!”

“You haven’t made me a queen yet, prince Jon. It does not bode well to speak of paths not taken,” she added playfully.

“I **_will_** make you a queen, even if the lords stab me immediately after, and no one will ever force you to do anything again, because the power will be in your hands. You have to believe me, this time. It’s not an empty promise.” Sansa recognized the resolution she had seen in him while choking Petyr, and loved him for it.

“I believe you” she said, as she looked into his eyes, and finally smiled at him. He reciprocated, then walked up to her, knelt, and took her hand to kiss her. “Thank you, Lady Sansa!”

“Jon, we already have a fool here at Winterfell, and the Gods know you could not be a better fool than him,” Sansa mocked her cousin. “But now, before I get back to ruling the North – and you can advise me, if you want – tell me how it happened that you recruited Sandor Clegane in our ranks,” Sansa requested.

***

That evening, after hours of discussing with Jon, Tyrion, Lord Yohn, the castle’s smith and Gendry about new weapons, Jorah brought Daenerys to an inn, wanting her to try some ale. Jon found this curious ( _taking your wife out to drink?)_ , but Jorah scolded him and reminded him of Bear Island’s egalitarian customs, by which he still stood. Jorah also found a curious ally in Arya, who loved ale, inns, Jon, and desperately wanted to be friends with Daenerys.

Gendry was already privy to Jon’s true identity thanks to Arya, and kept his mouth shut _thanks to Arya_ as well. The young smith declined the invitation, explaining that he would feel out of place drinking with princes, princesses and queens. Arya suspected he was a little intimidated by Daenerys, and hoped he would get over that soon. Jorah mumbled something about “damn Tormund’s jokes”, and all agreed that was something to be discussed while drinking ale and cheering for the brave men manning the Wall.

So the quartet, followed and guarded by a mixed group of guards from all over the world, sat at a table in an inn of the winter town, with Daenerys sitting with her back to the wall, on Jorah’s suggestion, in order to keep her back protected. Pints of ale were flowing – although Lady Sansa had already rationed everything  - and tales and laughter kept coming. The music was loud, and a few people even attempted some dancing. Daenerys felt incredibly happy, and loved, and normal; Arya and Jon thought for a while all the last years had only been a nightmare, and Jorah felt like he had never had all his troubles and never left Bear Island and was drinking with the Starks and his beloved wife.

In the general amusement, Jorah observed: “You see, Jon, the future belongs to these strong women, like my lovely Daenerys, and your cousins Sansa and Arya. You should not find strange that they want to do all we do. Your mother surely would not approve of your conservative stance. I think this is Lord Eddard who left his mark on you.” He had one of his irresistible smug faces on, and Arya and Daenerys laughed like mad. Daenerys smirked seductively at him amongst laughter, feeling lust for him already, and even licked away some trace of ale from her lips trying to elicit an adequate response from her husband, who answered by giving her one of his adoring but amused looks.

Jon was drunker than Jorah and the others realised, but he made it clear for all of them to hear by commenting Jorah’s statement as only a very drunk person could do. “I know, I know. I am terrible. I probably should start using ‘Maekar Targaryen’ as a name. Maekar. Sounds like the name of someone who is terrible.  Seven Blessings to you, I am Maekar Targaryen!” He almost slurred. This time, all three burst into laughter. Jorah realized then that all of them had enough to drink, and he decided to be the responsible one. “I think we should all go to bed. That was enough for today.”

The ladies looked disappointed and tried to object, but he reminded them that they were at war and that they had responsibilities. They stood up, and Jorah chivalrously took them both by the arm.

Jon stood up with difficulty, saw the hall spin, and congratulated himself for the achievement. He told himself to put a foot forth, and then the other after it, and the approach seemed to bring the desired results, since Jorah had nothing to criticise this time; he then tried to avoid a few men while approaching the door, but lost his footing and fell miserably.

A few instants later – or so he thought -, Jon found himself outside, kneeling in the snow, with Jorah holding his cloak and head, and Arya and Daenerys making fun of him. He felt some pressure on his head, and dived his face into the snow, only to be lifted again by Jorah.

“Are you with us again, lad?”

“Aye.”

“Should I carry you back to Winterfell?” The ladies’ laughter boomed.

“I would rather sleep here than endure that, thank you.”

“You are very welcome, nephew. Come on, everybody has his own drunk evening. Nothing to be ashamed of. How many pints did you order?”

“I have lost count.”

“I figured so. If you need to throw up, do it now, so that no poor servant has to scrub it away from the floor.”

“And how…”

“Oh, Seven Hells, Jon… either you tell yourself it’s all right to let it out – and you let it out - or you stick your fingers in your throat – and you let it come out -.”

Jon decided to try the latter, feeling like a scolded little Mormont cub. He could almost see both the Old Bear and Jorah looming over him, growling. Starks, Targaryens, and Mormonts, all growling and roaring at him. And he only wanted to be left in peace…

As embarrassing and painful as it was, he noticed he felt slightly better.

“Now rinse your mouth with some snow. Some _clean_ snow.”

Arya and Daenerys could not stop laughing.

“Why… not…them?”

“The ladies are only a little tipsy and in a good mood, not roaring drunk. You, dear nephew, made a fool of yourself at the inn. Be glad you did not land on your pretty face and you did not break your arms.”

“Did you lift me up and bring me here?”

“Of course.” Jorah was almost growling in frustration.

“Now you look very much like the Old Bear, I hope you know.”

“You obviously do not remember his sister then, my aunt Maege.”

“My bear, did your aunt ever bring you back to your keep while drunk?”

“Aye, when I was _about 13 or 14_ , I think.”

Jorah lead Daenerys and Arya back by their arms, whereas Jon leaned on a Dothraki, trying to act as if he were perfectly fine. The fresh air actually helped him a little.

Back to Winterfell, he noticed Jorah picking up Daenerys in jest and passion, and followed Arya to the Starks quartier. Arya disappeared from his sight, and he was left alone with the task of finding his chamber. _I can do it. I can reach my chambers. I am fine. It’s only warmer here because of the hot springs and of the pipes. I even remember we have a hot spring and pipes. I am fine._

And of course, his blood pressure let him down, and fell, even though he managed to control his falling this time.

A door opened, and a voice called: “Jon!” Then, Ghost’s tongue hit his face.

He looked up to see Sansa hovering over him. “My direwolf has decided a Targaryen does not need a direwolf, it seems.”

“Or maybe your direwolf does not come with if he has been hunting all day and wants to rest. Jon, are you drunk?”

“Maekar Targaryen is very drunk, aye.”

Sansa smiled. “ _Maekar Targaryen_ would not say ‘aye’. Come on, I will help you stand up.”

With some efforts, Sansa made Jon stand up again, although he leaned heavily against the walls. “How do you feel? I suppose you getting drunk indicates that you wanted to forget something.”

Jon had a terrible headache, and was not sure how much of it was due to the ale. “It was a hard day, and we are not even at war.”

“Jon, I am quite sure most things will not change. You know we still love you, no matter what your family name is. And the lords would have something to say no matter what. Now, the walls stand up by themselves, so come in and make yourself comfortable.”

“I… you… the… what?”

“I said _come in_. You don’t look comfortable leaning against that wall, and – as I said – the wall sure does not need your help to stand. You had an emotional day, and _I still care very much for you, no matter what your family name is_ , or what you are to me. I am glad to be here for you. I might imagine your aunt might prefer to spend the night with her husband, without nephews demanding her attention.”

“I… am still a little drunk…”

“You will sober up. Now, come in, pull of your boots and furs, and lie down.”

“On your bed?”

“On my bed. I will get you some water, and a chamber pot next to your side. I am certainly not bringing you to your room, and if you do sober up soon we might even talk.”

“Talk?”

“Jon, _please_ , will you do as you are told?”

“Yes, **_your grace_** ,” he said in mock obedience.

Sansa offered him her arm, in a funny reversal of their roles. “You are still a long way from a dragonknight, my Targaryen prince,” she chuckled. Jon leaned on her to reach the bed, stumbled on it, almost rolled off, and then managed to straighten up. Sansa observed the scene amused, then went to the table to retrieve some water, and prepared all she needed to host her sobering up cousin.

Her cousin slowly and clumsily pulled off his boots, threw his furred cloak on the floor, followed by his woolen surcoat… and sword belt and trousers, remaining in a shirt, breeches, and socks. He then threw himself on the mattress, his arms stretched out, his face showing signs of exhaustion and resignation.

“Before you pass out, drink some water.”

Jon obeyed, and in doing so he found himself looking up at Sansa in her nightshift, her long red hair dangling freely down her. One thought popped up spontaneously in his head, _I am lucky she is not my sister_. _Pale skin, perfect features, blue eyes, long red hair._ He stopped his train of thoughts ( _What are you thinking? Get a hold on yourself! Never again so much ale!)_ and motioned for her to pour him some more water. He downed his water, then tried to undo his bun to lie more comfortably.

Although he managed to free his curls by himself, he felt himself grazing Sansa’s hands: she had reached out to help him, partly out of courtesy, partly out of curiosity for those curls – she admitted to herself. She smiled shyly, and said: “I hope you won’t mind if I get under my covers. It’s quite cold in my nightshift. If you feel cold, cover yourself too.”

He said nothing, and simply observed her rounding the bed and slipping under the furred cover and the blanket, lying on her belly to look up at him.

“How drunk are you? Truth now.”

“It’s not so bad. Jorah made me… well… sober up a little.”

“What did he do?” Sansa asked in amusement. “You can use harsh words in front of us ladies, you know.”

“Do you think Rhaegar, the Prince of Dragonstone, would have done that? Evoke all kinds of unpleasant images when talking to ladies?”

“Seven Hells, Rhaegar married a woman like **_Aunt Lyanna_** willingly and out of love, I bet he did a lot more than use a few uncourtly words in his life, and I am not even counting what he did with her to have you!”

Jon laughed at hearing Sansa curse and say bawdy things, and Sansa joined him in laughter. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. So, he probably swore…”

“I will tell you what else he did. Knights are for killing. And he had two wives, and three children, and had the guts to force a maester to accept his polygamous choice and record it. I can see Rhaegar being very unpleasant, when he wanted to be.”

“Oh, perfect, now that you mention it… I will have to ask my uncle to knight me. I can hear yet another life lesson coming.”

Sansa laughed at Jon’s almost childish way of speaking about Jorah. “I thought you liked your new uncle!”

“I do, but when he knows things… he is annoyingly right and annoyingly loud about it… and… well, I cannot make love to him to have him shut up as my aunt does.”

Half-drunk, sobering-up, honest Jon was immensely entertaining, and Sansa was conquered by his mood so much that she let her guard down. “Oh, I would love to see you do that!” she blurted out, then recognized **_what_** she had said, and decided to laugh about it, although the blushing betrayed her.

“Sansa, are **you** drunk?” asked an upset Jon.

“Just getting used to being the one who rules. Jon, I am sorry, I did not want to scare you off in my jest.”

Jon raised an eyebrow and studied her. “What exactly is so interesting for you in the idea of two men… gods, I think I **am** going to throw up, after all… “

“Gods, Jon, I was only taunting you and letting it slip that I think you are two handsome men. I have eyes, you know. Don’t play Baelor the Blessed with me.”

 _If this woman does not rule the North with a flick of her fingers, no one will do. What made her like this?_ “I guess I really know nothing. Ygritte was right all along.”

“Your lost lover?”

“Aye.”

“Instead of thinking of a love you lost, I think you should try to relax and have some rest.”

“I was trying to do exactly that, before you started talking about cursing and other… unladylike things.”

 _And conservative Jon is back_. Sansa wasn’t having any of it, so she tried to elicit a reaction out of him. “Tell me exactly… how did a wildling woman fall in love with you? Unladylike things, you say almost in shock…”

“Bantering… and, well, some unladylike things, most of them.”

“I thought so, _my Targaryen Prince_ ,” she smirked in triumph.

Sansa had cornered him again. He passed his fingers through his curls, slowly, as if he could sweep away his headache with that gesture, and when he opened his eyes again, he found Sansa smiling at him again, ignoring that the smile was more due to his gesture, very alluring in her eyes, than to her victory in their banter.

“Do you still like the songs and stories from our childhood, even now that we know that knights kill, fools have miserable lives, drunk people throw up and make fools of themselves, princes and princesses and kings and queens not only curse but also can cause destruction and sorrow?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to bring destruction and sorrow, that much I know.”

The harsh insert of reality stunned Jon. “I know. Me neither. But it seems it is not possible, according to you, to whomever spoke to you in King’s Landing, and to everybody else in this world. And I recall **_there is_** someone you want to make pay for her deeds…”

“That is different. You know what Cersei did.”

“Wasn’t Joffrey who ordered the execution?”

“But it was Cersei who raised Joffrey, Cersei who cornered Father, Cersei who made it possible to have me mistreated and abused by advising everyone to keep me at court as an hostage. Besides, Joffrey is already dead and I cannot kill him again. Sadly, I would say.”

“But… you see? That’s how it begins. We kill Cersei, then leave someone behind, and this someone will never forgive us for what we did. We can be loved by someone, but then be hated by someone else.”

“I will not change my mind. I had Ramsay and Petyr executed, I will not spare Cersei. If I don’t kill her, someone else will, robbing me of my revenge.”

“Oh, no, don’t misunderstand my remark. I am merely stating that the chain of hatred and love will not stop, but I will gladly stand by your side again as you defeat Cersei,” grinned Jon.

“So, you **_are_** embracing your Targaryen roots.”

“Am I really? Didn’t Lord Eddard do his share of fighting, killing, and executing?”

“I amend what I said. You are starting to act like a king.”

“I put to death without any second thoughts those who killed me, you forget. Even the boy, Olly.”

“You always had it in you, then. Maybe you were always so worried to follow in Father’s steps that you kept losing the trail he left, because you saw your worries rather than the trail itself.”

“No, that wasn’t it. I wanted to be a knight of the songs, remember?”

Sansa sighed at the irony of it. “And yet we are all characters from a song. Only the songs omit the parts that would make most people uncomfortable. Like when you watch your rapist and torturer being eaten by his dogs, or the man who manipulated half Westeros bleed to death at your feet.”

“Littlefinger, I imagine? You haven’t said much about it.”

“I know. I guess you should know about him.” And Jon listened to her, horrified by what had been going on in the Kingdoms as he lived his days on the Wall. “The damn fucker! Oh, I am so glad you had him killed, all three of you working together! And the Others may take me if I am not glad I beheaded that fucker Janos Slynt myself!”

“You did?”

“The fucker refused to obey his commander, and even taunted me. He died horribly, crying like a baby, asking to be spared.”

Sansa grinned. “Look at us. We curse and swear and kill, and get our revenge. If we defeat the Walkers, Cersei has no chance. We won’t even need your aunt’s dragons.”

Jon stretched out his hand and took Sansa’s, taken by the renewed connection they had found. Then, suddenly, it was her blue eyes he saw, and her red hair falling down, and he instinctively tightened his grip and stroked her back and palm with his fingers, just lightly.

None of them thought it was inappropriate, so they went on. “You know, I was worried about Baelish. I thought… he might have tried to sneak… into… well…”

Sansa listened in silence, curious about Jon’s reluctance. “Into what?”

“… your bed, one way or another.”

“Well, he **_was_** quite honest about that being the thing he wanted, for once, and I think he meant it when he said that to you.”

“He didn’t say…”

“… he would _fuck_ me, but that was what he meant, and you surely understood it correctly, if I recall your reaction.”

 _Cornered. Again._ “Forgive me if I ask… but did he ever… try something?”

“No, he didn’t. But, you see… he made a mistake once. He made the mistake to tell me what his end goal was. Ruling, with me at his side. I knew then that having me in his bed while he was still too vulnerable would not have helped him in his ascent to power, so I knew I was safe. But I feared he could manipulate me, and he tried hard to do that. I would have preferred to have him in my bed, after all, because here” and she patted the mattress “he could not have hurt me as much as he would have done if he successfully manipulated me into antagonizing Arya and you and into following his directions.”

Jon thought for a few instants about Sansa’s statement. There was something terrible in it, but he also saw what she meant. Ramsay raped her, abused her, degraded her. Littlefinger’s own violence was different: manipulation, division, chaos, lies, scheming, assassination, all abuses of a kind that were not those usually committed **in** a bed. He was not the man Sansa desired, but he might have even have been gentle with her in bed. On the other hand, he could imagine Sansa making a man’s head spin, thus being the one to manipulate the man desiring her once exposed to her beauty and to the pleasure she could give a man. Because, and Jon felt ashamed for thinking it, he knew that a man could enjoy his time with Sansa in bed immensely, maybe even lose his head.

However, he wished the next man would also make her happy, at least in bed.

“I understand, Sansa, but I am happy you didn’t… have to. You deserve to be kissed and loved by a man you like at least a little bit, or even better by a man you love and who loves you.”

A wave of sadness shadowed Sansa’s beautiful face. “It’s sad to admit that of the men who have kissed me, Petyr was the only one who loved me, even if in his twisted and manipulative way.”

“That cannot be love.”

“Didn’t you love Ygritte?”

Jon felt ashamed. “I did.”

“So you know it’s possible. I am not saying it is the kind of love I yearn for or wish to anybody, but you know it happens.”

“But I cannot believe you never once kissed someone who was kind to you.”

“Joffrey kissed me on my lips. Petyr kissed me several times. And Ramsay…”

Jon squeezed her hand in rage, and then – feeling sorry for the pain he might have caused her – let her go. “No, Sansa, you cannot tell me those are the men who kissed you.” He felt sick at the thought. “How… no, it isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair.” It was the second time Jon heard that said that day.

“We could at least try to make it fairer.”

“This brings us back to what we have discussed previously.”

It was all sad, and wise, and true, Jon noticed. “I think doing something for those we love is good enough.”

“So it’s true, you are another person. Jon Snow disappeared, and now I am talking to Jon Maekar Targaryen,” chuckled Sansa.

“Maybe I am. In fact, I am. Jon Snow was your brother. Jon Targaryen is your cousin.”

Sansa smiled wordlessly. She could not tell him that deep down she was happy he was her cousin.

“You know what else I think, Sansa?”

“No, tell me.”

Jon inhaled deeply once and let it all out. “I think that there is something I would like to do for someone I… really care about. You should be kissed by someone who loves you. Don’t ask me if I am still drunk, I don’t know, I might be, but I don’t’ think so… but I know I would like to kiss you once, to erase all those dreadful men from your mind.” He didn’t even breathe to be able to say it all without pauses, fearing that stopping once would have prevented him to say it.

Sansa’s jaw dropped.

“You know I would not harm you… I am sorry if I scared you…”

“No, you didn’t scare me. And… I trust you, and I would like to feel a sweet kiss without the bitter taste of manipulation… from my handsome cousin. Even if he is probably drunk.”

“I don’t think I am really drunk right now.”

She only smiled, and he stretched his arms to pick her up. She pulled herself up and moved towards him, blushing. He put his hands on the sides of her head, and slowly brought his lips on hers.

Their kiss was tender at first, lips caressing, but soon Jon felt Sansa’s hands in his hair, and felt her hair brushing on his chest, and then he noticed she had inclined her head instinctively…

The next thing he noticed was her tongue meeting his while he was shyly licking her lips, and then their tongues were suddenly caressing each other, slowly – he knew he had to be gentle and tender, after what she had endured it. It was a long kiss, deep, slow, not daring enough but not innocent enough.

When they parted, they both felt a little embarrassed, but he knew he had a smile on his face, and she was smiling too.

“I just wanted to give you some sweet memory, and it was sweet for me too.”

“I think now it’s time we rest, both of us. At least we will have sweet dreams.” She patted his pillow and lifted the covers on his side.

“Yes, I agree. Are… you sure you want me to stay?”

“Of course.”


	9. Family matters - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon knows who he is, and has to slowly rebuild his relationship to his family, the old and the new one. How will he fare?  
> This is actually one huge chapter I had to publish in two parts for better readability, Part I (chap. 8) and Part II (chap 9).  
> TW for both parts: mention of several past traumatic experiences and of deeply emotional issues (rape, abuse, violence, dark magic, exploitation, infertility). Nothing too explicit, but if you see a paragraph taking a darker turn, and feel uncomfortable, skip a few of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual disclaimers apply.

Such a beautiful and passionate woman riding him relentlessly… he was a lucky man, a _loudly moaning lucky man drowning in pleasure_ as much as his woman did. He let himself enjoy their coupling almost passively at first: his mouth and beard still impregnated by her taste, his cock sheathed in her wet and tight cunt, she was fucking him in all the ways she wanted to fuck him, balancing herself, or stroking his chest and biceps sensually. Slowly, then quicker; cradling herself on him, then bouncing, then circling. He only accompanied her movements with some light rolling of the hips, to ensure the right amount of pleasure for both of them. Her face in pleasure was almost as hot as the sensations on his rock-hard cock, and her loud moans and sighs almost made him go mad. Her hair and her wonderful perfect teats were bouncing, and he knew he would have to touch and taste them soon.

But first he let her reach a few of her peaks: the intense, quick and shuddering orgasm she reached with her clit, and the almost quiet one from the pleasure of his hard shaft in her tightness. He let her enjoy her dominance, and his chest, closing his eyes a few time in order not to finish too early.

Then he knew it was time for her deepest desire.

Jorah sat up quickly, one arm around her bottom and the other one on the small of her back, his legs crossing. He gave her a quick kiss, almost only their tongues touching, and sucked voluptuously one of her nipples. She threw her own arms around his shoulders, never stopping her motions, as he started to move his hips more, using his tighter grip to make their fucking harder, intensifying their stimulation. “My bear… oh, gods, you are… so hard today… you are always… ooh… deliciously hard… but… OOOH… today…”

He tightened his grip further on her hips by putting both his arms around them, just above her marvellous bum, and thrust hard into her when she came down on him, rubbing himself on her internal sensitive spot that was now so easy to reach. “It’s because… **_you_** are incredible… and incredibly wet.” Her moans were turning into the usual screams she produced when his thrusts changed. He licked her neck, then claimed her mouth wildly. “You are a wet goddess… and I would stay this hard inside you forever… if you ordered me to.” He bit her neck.

“AHHH, JORAH…. AAAHHH”. She was always loud, as he was, but this time she was louder than ever. Fucking her with the right angle inside her and fucking her mind too was always glorious, but this time they had evidently outdone themselves. He had to be glad some men outside heard her scream of pleasure because hearing them cheer, encourage them, and say some bawdy things helped him not to spill immediately after – normally he would not appreciate that sort of intrusion at all,

He ate her mouth, her neck and her teats while fucking her deep and hard. They both joined their efforts to make their coupling intense. But they were both on fire, and fire burns. “Daenerys… Daenerys… you are too much… come for me… once more… _khaleesi_ …” he said with another targeted thrust and word. And she answered with another loud scream, and another tight squeezing. This time not even the bawdiest encouragement shouted at them stopped him from spilling inside her screaming, pushing upwards as she pushed down to feel him better.

She collapsed on him completely, and he leaned down, his love tightly hugged against him. He kissed her lightly on her cheek and neck, and pulled the covers up with his fingers and arm stretched.

“I think it is like training, my love. You get harder, and harder.”

Jorah guffawed, and kissed her. “And you get wilder, and wilder.”

“You, my bear, are as wild as me, a worthy mate for a dragon.”

 _Daario Naharis, wherever you are, go fuck yourself, you and your stupid assumptions. I had greyscale, you idiot._ He kissed her nose, and she leaned her forehead on his. “I hope I am and always will be.”

“Of course you are, my love.”

“It was a beautiful evening: my love, some ale, a nice evening at the inn, some wild lovemaking.”

Daenerys observed him to catch if it was one of his dry wits or if he was sincerely appreciating the evening. “You like simple things,” she stated in a neutral tone, as soon as she noticed he was being honest.

“If I could live all of my days like this one, I admit I would not ask for anything else. You, friends and family, some ale, you and I in our bed. But I am no fool, and I know things are bound to change.”

“Or maybe your queen will try to make your wish come true,” she suggested with a smile. “Maybe not the part in which our nephew gets drunk and throws up, though.”

“You laughed madly!”

“But he suffered, poor Jon!”

“He is at least five years late on that experience! Where did he live! Oh, I forgot, the Wall… although my father had his first ale for breakfast. Probably **_that_** was why he never got his measure, now that I think of it: my father must have drunk it all.”

“Oh, Jorah! I am so curious now… would you teach our children how to drink?” In her amusement there was a streak of sadness that Jorah could not miss, and it made him worry. “That is, if I were not barren.” And there was the open admission of her regret.

“Daenerys… my love… please, don’t let such questions burden you. It’s no use.”

Daenerys sighed, her eyes glistening. “But I cannot avoid to think… about us having children.”

Jorah understood. He had first lost three children, then his second wife had done anything she could not to have them, and as a result of his unlucky love life he had given up on the dream of being a father years ago. But now they were together, in love, married for love, and the issue was bound to come out. He felt lucky he had thought about this possible discussion many times, so that he was not caught unprepared by this conversation. “I know, but having children is not all there is in life. I have you, and our love. It is enough for me. I am only sorry if **_you_** wished to have any. Especially since **_I_** was the one who carried you into that tent… but you know now that I did it because I had already watched my first wife dying of childbirth… I could not risk losing you too before my eyes. I am so sorry, I really am, but I only wanted to save you, and give a chance to the child by saving you.”

“Jorah, my love, don’t feel guilty for it. It was my idea to ask the maegi for blood magic. But you would deserve to be a father.”

“I married you because **_I loved you_**. I do not care for titles, or lands, or for anything else you may bring into it other than your love. I would have accepted to be your lover if you married someone else in exchange for an alliance instead, I would have accepted to share you with another husband. And I don’t _deserve_ anything, because I never asked for anything, not even for your love if that wasn’t what you wanted to give me. And another thing: do not let anyone convince you that a woman only has worth if she produces children. Of all women… you have done more in your life than simply being a wife and a mother. You are you, and your worth is what you are, and what you do. You have conquered, ruled, freed, mobilised people, brought back dragons to the world. Aren’t these things exceptional achievements?”

"But… wouldn’t you love having children with me?” A single tear run out, and Jorah tenderly wiped it away with its knuckles.

“Daenerys, **_of course_** I would love our children dearly, but right now I love and cherish **you**. If children come, I will be thrilled to have them in my arms, to see them grow up and love their mother as I love her. But you know what was in that tent… what good brings us to hope that the maegi was only telling those words out of spite and hate? It seems to me like you already suffer enough. Why set up expectations, when they could increase your pain?”

“But you… you told me the carving on the gate of Bear Island portrays a woman with a battle-axe and a babe…”

“It still does not mean that we believe that all women **_have to_** have children. It just means that a woman on Bear Island can choose to pick up a weapon, or to have babies, or both. My cousin Dacey was quite sure she did not want any children, for example. And the gods know that not all women can have children, regardless of sorcery. Now, if you truly desire to be a mother, and if it’s not something you think you have to do…”

“It’s not ‘necessary’, you are right, especially when one thinks about all that one has to do when reigning and changing things, but I feel like the choice was taken from me.”

“If that is what is bothering you, I will search for another sorcerer to try to lift the curse.”

“You will not leave my side, ever again!” She said while poking his chest with her pointer finger.

“Then **_we_** will search for him or her, if you want. I would lift the curse with my hand, if I could, to lift the sorrow and the pain from you, you know that.” He caressed her cheek and her hair. “Or we could pick up two or three war orphans and raise them as our children. Or we could cherish our life as a couple without pestering servants to help us with them in order to enjoy our time alone, or we could have dogs, or cats… I know we already have dragons, but I would really feel more comfortable with a more domestic animal.”

“Jorah, you are the sweetest man there is. And that’s sadly why it kills me that I cannot give you children, that I cannot hold in my arms children who look like you.”

Jorah tried to make her smile. “You see? I would like children looking like you, not like me. We would disagree on this.” He kissed her nose. “Also, there is a silver lining even in this. I lost three children and a wife, you lost a child and made me fear I would lose you too. Having a child together would be beautiful, but I fear I would also spend much time worrying madly for you until you recovered. What I mean is: whatever happens, as long as we love each other and are together, I will be happy. I am only sorry to learn you are suffering for it so much on your own. But you are right: the choice was taken from you, and this is a horrible thing.”

“And I am **_sure_** I would want to have children with you, Jorah. I always wanted a home and a family. And now that I feel home with you, all we can have is a nephew who is older than me, wields a sword, and probably will have children of his own soon. I… wanted to see you looking at me like Drogo did when I was expecting Rhaego, and I will never see it.” Daenerys burst into tears.

“My love, don’t… don’t cry. I am so sorry.” He repeated the words a few time, hugging her and cradling her. “But remember, I love you no matter what. Simply hearing you say that… it’s more than I could possibly dream of. And don’t forget that the future is uncertain, and that even if we survive the War for the Dawn and if we get your throne, there will be many difficulties and hardships. Maybe bringing a child into it would not be the wisest thing.”

Daenerys could not stop crying. “ ** _WE_** could at least **_decide_** to wait for a while, Jorah, but we cannot. The decision was taken from us.”

Jorah had an intuition. “Who knows, Daenerys, with all this magic… not only there could be sorcerers able to help – although I would be rather terrified that they would do even further damage -, there could be also some connections. Maybe if we defeat the dark magic of the Walkers we can defeat the powers that cursed your womb. The maegi spoke of ‘shadow of the grave’. Those beings surely have something to do with death.”

“So, not only would we avenge my Viserion, we might also have a chance at a family of our own?”

“I am not saying it is sure, but it might be. Next time we see Lord Beric, we should talk to him. Or maybe that red priestess…. If she comes back. Anything to have you freed from this pain, my love.”

Jorah saw her not only smile, but also relax. He tightened his hug, shifted slightly on the side, and kissed her. “Now try to relax, my queen. If you wake up or cannot sleep, wake me up too. I don’t want to have you suffering alone with your thoughts. Was it Jon’s revelation that brought them up all of a sudden or have you been having them for a while?”

“I had a few quick thoughts about it, but they went away as quick as they had come. Sometimes just because I took notice of how we are in love, or how you would make beautiful babies. Once because I heard you talking about spending time with the Stark children, and I found it very sweet. I shoved those thoughts away, because, as you say, I have you and your love, and it is so beautiful, so why shadow it with sad thoughts? But now… yes, Jon, seeing you with him… thinking about family in general… I could not escape those thoughts anymore.”

Jorah exhaled, and hugged her tightly. “Then we will face these thoughts together. I am so sorry… I thought you were happy to be a queen and a dragonlady, and I thought it was only Tyrion being the usual pain in the ass that bothered you with thoughts about the succession.”

“My love, you couldn’t know, don’t be sorry. Now I just want to dream of defeating the Walkers and of giving birth to cute little copies of you.” She stroked her head on his chest and closed her eyes. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, my love.” Jorah thought that she maybe took the throne for granted, and closed his eyes too, adjusting their embrace to sleep comfortably.

## The morning after

 

“No, my bear, don’t… go away now.” Daenerys, still beneath him, stopped him from sliding out of her by putting her hands on the small of his back, even though they had cuddled enough already and a day of war preparation was waiting for them.

“I know it’s so beautiful, but we have to get up no… NO, Daenerys, if you move like that… then we will spend the day in bed, you know. And we cannot afford to do that.” Unfortunately, he felt himself hardening again inside her thanks to the deliberate rolling of her hips, felt his soul burn at the strong desire she showed, and he only hoped that after that round she would listen to reason.

“I swear, when all this is over I will **_command_** you to spend some days in bed, my knight.”

He thrust in her once hard and deep, his cock almost completely erect again. “A happy queen will only make the realm blossom and grow.”

After a moan, she managed a “Spoken like a true advisor and Lord Commander.”

Jorah chuckled, and started moving in deep and slow thrusts “Daenerys… I love you… even when you make me fear for our sanity.”

“I love you… and I am sure you will keep me… **_oh gods_** … in line.”

They made love in every single position they had tried or found out together, drowning in love and lust. She was now on her knees, screaming wildly in pleasure for the deep thrusts inside her and for the delightful pressure of his balls on her clit, as well as for his hands grazing and kneading her teats and her bottom alternatively.

“You cannot… come… so much… my love” he teased, half-chuckling, half-moaning.

Another scream and peak. “It’s all your fault… _Jorah Mormont_!”

This time it was her voice, a queenly voice trying to emerge from the deformed screams of pleasure, that made him go over the edge. And in a few violent thrusts, he spilled deep inside her among mutual wordless screams.

At least, the position forced them to cuddle up without him staying inside her, so he slowly started to think – among the fogs of happiness and satisfaction - that they could be ready for their duties in court in little more than half an hour. He hugged her and kissed her hair. “So, my fault is that I live to serve you,” he said as an answer to her clever provocation.

They looked at each other and laughed.

“Are you finally DONE?” A frustrated male Northern voice called from beyond the door.

“My love, between yesterday and this morning I fear we have been quite entertaining for our soldiers. Although I did not expect people to have the guts and the cheek to complain about it openly,” commented Jorah, and the couple continued laughing.

“We should keep the Dothraki as guards, Jorah. They are used to coupling in front of the khalasar under the stars, they won’t mind us screaming beyond closed doors.”

But the voice was not done yet. “I said, are you DONE? May I enter? There are some urgent matters to discuss!”

“Jorah, I think it sounds like Jon.”

Jorah stroked his face and hair groaning, stood up, and made for the door, his face showing his malcontent.

He opened the door a few inches, just to see if it was Jon. “A good morning to you too, nephew.”

“Not as good as yours.”

Daenerys could not resist. “If it runs in the family, then… I have good tidings for you! Just find the lady you like!”

Considering the manner of _his_ awakening, Jon found this uncalled for greeting from his aunt quite embarrassing, so his face **_stayed_** quite annoyed and embarrassed.

Jorah’s amusement for his wife’s cheek and for Jon’s embarrassment was soon stopped by the suspicion that something might have gone terribly wrong outside of their cocoon, so wrong that the young prince had been forced to listen to their coupling instead of waiting somewhere else. “Jon, did something bad happen at the Wall?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“So why have you been enduring our… moments of pleasure?”

“It simply did not happen at the Wall.”

“Are the White Walkers swarming in Westeros? Did they build ships?”

“It’s not about the White Walkers being among us.”

“But it is something bad, isn’t it?”

“Aye.”

Jorah sighed. “Just wait. We freshen up, dress ourselves, and you can enter as Daenerys braids her hair.”

**

“You can braid hair?” asked Jon, witnessing Jorah helping his wife with her long hair.

“Not as proficiently as handmaids, but I fare well enough. But we are not here to talk about Daenerys’ braids, I suppose. So, what happened?”

“I will try to be short, but it’s complicated.”

“Give it a go, lad, and try to get straight to the point. We should be sitting together discussing matters with the courts already. If we continue like this, the Walkers will swarm into Winterfell while we are still arguing in which order we should be sitting.”

 

## Not even two hours ago…

 

“Good morning, my lady!” The voice of Sansa’s favourite handmaiden boomed cheerfully in the lady’s chamber. The handmaiden drew the curtains and opened the window to let some light and fresh air come in.

Sleepily, Sansa and Jon lifted their heads and looked in the handmaiden’s direction.

The shocked face of the handmaiden told them something was wrong. At least, wrong in her eyes.

Sansa had slept peacefully on Jon’s chest, and Jon had an arm around her. They were dressed, Ghost was calm, the room was tidy, nothing looked or smelled out of the ordinary, so nothing looked particularly wrong. And yet for the young maid the idea of a brother and a sister sharing the bed like that looked quite… peculiar. And she definitely did not hide her opinion on the matter, her expression telling what her voice could not.

Apart from the incredible feeling of her hand touching Jon’s strong chest, Sansa did not feel anything particular, and certainly not shame. Besides, the Lady of Winterfell was entitled to choosing her own company, even at night. “Frieda, is there anything wrong? Anything I should be made aware of?”

“M’lady… ‘s not for me to say.” Being her favourite handmaiden had given her leave to be quite open with her lady.

Jon had still a headache, and it threatened to get worse considering what was going on.

“I assume you know Jon, or had you forgotten him since he was away for many months?”

“No, m’lady, I know him.”

“Don’t you have a brother yourself?”

“Yes, m’lady.” _Only my brother is a little boy who is scared by the dark, not a strong handsome swordsman,_ thought the handmaiden.

Sansa shook off the covers and stood up to retrieve some water. She also thought that showing the tidy, clean bed and their ordinary night attire would calm the handmaid. “We have missed each other, and we wanted to talk about all the things that have befallen… that have happened to us so far. I did not want to be alone afterwards.”

It might have worked if it were not for Jon being in his breeches. Drinking had not prevented him from having the spontaneous erection many men experience in the mornings. And Frieda was young, and nice, and fond of the Starks, but she was not blind, and was privy to many things that went on in beds, especially since the common folk was not sheltered as highborn ladies tend to be until they are married.

Frieda knew Sansa and Jon well enough, and was ready to believe that it had been a completely innocent thing between two brothers. But she also thought that Jon was old enough to know if he was one of those with morning woods, and found that the handsome bastard lying there, with his cock outline clearly pressing against his breeches, looked anything but innocent.

So, why had the shy bastard – the handsome boy no girl around Winterfell had managed to bed, as opposed to Robb and Theon - accepted to share his sister’s bed if he knew he would wake up like that?

Frieda admitted that **_she_** would have not been an innocent girl with him in her bed, and she was quite younger than the lord. Was the lady Sansa not privy to such things? Maybe it was a highborn thing…

Jon stretched a little, combed his hair with his hand, and then looked around, trying to reconnect with the world, and noticed Frieda staring at his cock. Before he could formulate the thought _I hope Sansa does not notice too,_ she turned around, and saw.

Jon knew when the time was ripe for heroes – playing the hero was, in fact, his biggest flaw according to almost everyone -, and tackled the matter directly. “I apologise, my ladies… it happens to men in the morning, and we have no control over it,” he said, while covering himself again, and blushing. Ghost waddling at his voice only made the situation surreal.

Frieda smiled at him, almost flirtingly, and said, “But of course, m’lord. It just means you are in perfect health.”

Sansa was stunned.

“M’lady, didn’t you know that?” intervened the handmaiden with sincere concern in her voice.

She wasn’t sure she could recover her voice, and yet she tried. “No, as a matter of fact I didn’t.”

“Well, I brought everything you might need to freshen up, m’lady. If there is nothing else…”

“No, you may go, Frieda, thank you.”

As soon as the handmaid had disappeared, Jon, now limp again thanks to the shame and the shock, uttered: “I am so sorry, so, so sorry, Sansa.”

Sansa was quite confused. She remembered very well all of her thoughts, and the conversations she had with him yesterday, and the kiss. She had loved falling asleep on his chest. Even more than she had enjoyed watching him and the other handsome lords washing in the snow. But she was not yet at the stage in which she could love the sight of her cousin’s arousal, as she presumed lucky women in love like Daenerys did when confronted with similar visions from their lovers.

Yet, Jon was not lying when he said he had no control over it, she knew it. Even Frieda was sincere when she had asked her whether she truly ignored the fact or not. She felt childish for not knowing better.

“Sansa, I **_swear_** it’s something that… happens.”

“Jon… I believe you. I truly do. It was just… unexpected to me, that’s all.”

“I should not have stayed here.”

“Jon, don’t be silly. I slept so peacefully…” _on your chest,_ she added in her thoughts _._ Sansa noticed Jon was terribly sorry, visibly pained by what had happened, and tried to reassure him. “Jon, it’s really not… you haven’t scared me. It’s just that I did not expect to witness it so soon, that’s all.” She meant _a man’s arousal_ , but since she could not bring herself to say it out loud, she left it unspoken, only to realise that the sentence could also be interpreted in another way…

Jon’s thoughts were spinning. Was she expecting to see **_his_** erection since she had known they were cousins for some time and she wanted him, because she had… feelings for him, or because she wanted a dynastic union?

Jon’s silently raised brow gave Sansa the cue. “I meant… a man’s… **_state_** … again… after… you know… well, I thought marrying again was a possibility for me. But for the future, after the war. So I didn’t expect to see… a man’s part… today.”

Jon insulted himself for being so stupid, especially because his uncalled for fantasising had worsened the situation by rekindling his erection. But he knew he admired her, he loved her, and since he had known she was his cousin, he had finally admitted to himself that she was a beautiful redhead of a great ruling lady. Therefore, stupid or not, his renewed erection was not so difficult to explain.

She had admitted she found him handsome too. He wasn’t so sure what she thought of him as a person, though.

It was certainly a strange situation. They hadn’t done anything wrong. They were now cousins, and they had only shared childhood memories that could be the same as those of two neighbouring highborn children. But still, one could not simply go from being a sibling one day to being a lover the other. Or could one?

His grandparents had been brother and sister on one side, and cousins on the other. Was it a family thing?

But no… Daenerys had married a man who could not be more distant in bloodlines from hers. They were undoubtedly akin souls – and bodies -, but they shared no ancestor, he a son of the First Men, she a daughter of Old Valyria through and through.

It had to be something else than an inherited trait. It could be the things they had in common, such as the appreciation for knightly tales and dreams, or it could be the fact that he loved red hair on girls.

“Jon?” Her voice shook him out of his deep thoughts. “I meant it. I know you would never harm me. I was only surprised, that’s all.”

He had to be a hero, her hero. “Sansa, I am terribly sorry nonetheless. I had promised I would never harm you. I had asked you to kiss you… yesterday… just to kiss you…”

“And that’s what you did. You kissed me, and then we slept peacefully.”

“You said it yourself, you didn’t want to see a… man’s part.”

“Let me explain it once again. I said I thought I would see a man’s desire again not before we defeated the Walkers and only after I had found a suitable man. That was what surprised me, the timing, nothing more. I am not scared, I am not horrified, and I am most certainly not angry at you for being, as Frieda said, a healthy man. The gods know we cannot survive this war if we send men and women without strength and health to fight.”

“Do you remember… Ramsay’s… letter… because I do…”

“Jon, you are not Ramsay. If you were, we would not be having this conversation. As for my memories… your kiss and the thought that accompanied it were very sweet, but it will take a longer time to forget what he did to me. And it’s not your fault. It’s only Ramsay’s, and probably in part Petyr’s. They both died on my orders. Now, there is nothing more we can do about it. Only time will tell if I can forget.”

He should not have reacted like that, but Jon clearly felt the desire to be the one who made her forget that bastard’s violence, to be the one who explored every inch of her pale skin… He tried hard to breathe in deeply and relax, so that he could stand up and leave the room.

Sansa turned to pick up a brush and take care of her hair, considering the conversation closed.

She knew, of course, that something had shifted in their relationship, but of all the troubles that crowded her mind, such as complaining or rebellious lords, shortage of food, ice demons and an army of animated corpses, a possible mutual desire between her and a cousin was none of them.

Jon decided to stand up and pick up his trousers to put them back on, covering his state. He then put on his boots, cuddled Ghost, and picked up the rest.

Before leaving, he approached Sansa again, her hair full of volume after the brushing, his heart full of many different and confused feelings. He put a hand on her cheek, and told her: “I wish you to forget soon, I wish you the time you need is not much, and I wish you to find the man who gives you what you should have had. This world might not be fair, but that much justice must be in it.”

Sansa only smiled, put her hands on his, and let him go.

But guards and servants were everywhere, and his leaving Sansa’s room with some of his clothes in his hands did not go unobserved. Even Podrick, Brienne – Sansa’s next neighbour – and Arya – his own neighbour - caught him in the corridor, while going back to his room with half his clothing in his hand. He even realised that guards must have been present when he stumbled.

People talk, and when he went down for breakfast he noticed that from a few looks guards and servants threw at him.

Arya was not particularly pissed, or worried, but she looked a little confused. “Jon, did you manage to find your room yesterday? I thought you were fine to go, but you obviously did not sleep there.”

“A night out at the brothel?” suggested Podrick, trying to elicit some camaraderie, but getting an elbow in his kidney from Brienne instead.

“What… no!”

Tyrion joined the conversation and grabbed some pie. “That was me, Pod. So, I seem to understand that Jon Snow has not spent the night in his room. Got lucky? The Northern girls missed you, didn’t they? Especially with those curls left wild and free.”

Jon saw a way out. “Yes, they did.” It was not even a lie.

“What Northern girl? There is none left of the former Stark household. Unless you mean the girls who work for us now.”

“It’s really not something I want to discuss with my _sister_.”

“I have to agree with Jon here. You only discuss your sex life with your sister when you want to piss her off. Wenching and whoring... I remember when we first met here I had Cersei furious one day during breakfast with just a few words about the girls of the winter town!”

Even Jon had to chuckle. “Maybe one day when we will torture Cersei we will summon you to resume your duty, Lord Tyrion.”

“Are you planning on torturing my sister? Music to my ears. Tell me more, Jon Snow.”

“Well, we haven’t really decided if we will torture her, but Sansa and I have spoken a lot about it last night, and agreed that we are going to get our revenge. Sansa is not the woman who shows mercy: she had her former husband eaten by his own dogs, and Littlefinger’s throat slit.”

Jon did not notice what he had just said, and continued helping himself to breakfast, as if nothing had happened.

“Did you discuss my beloved sister’s demise with your sister **_before_** visiting the lucky Northern girl, to be in the right mood, or **_afterwards_** , to prolong the pleasant sensations?” asked Tyrion, and Jon could not tell if he was sarcastic or honest, and what the target of his sarcasm would be.

Brienne, who **_had_** seen him come out of Sansa’s room, had an expression between the mildly unfriendly and the honestly confused, but did not dare to say anything, same way as she had not say anything before.

Arya thought that a man who cannot play the game should not play the game in the first place. “The Northern girl Jon visited _was_ Sansa,” she announced calmly and coldly.

For several instants, none dared to say a single word. As usual, the first one to recover his speech was Tyrion, who at least saw the irony in the whole matter. “Well, I appreciate your efforts to make me feel at home, Jon Snow, but you really did not have to go out of your way like this.”

“Lord Tyrion, Sansa is not Jon’s sister. Sansa is Jon’s cousin.”

“Arya!”

“ ** _Cousin_**? Have I missed something? I recall you being Ned Stark’s bastard being one of the major points of several conversations across the years. The last one, in fact, not so long ago, with my sister.”

Arya continued in her calm, distanced attitude, a funny counter-position to Tyrion’s astonishment and to Brienne and Podrick’s confusion. “Yes, Lord Tyrion, it is something Jon will announce officially soon, but since we are here, I think we could tell you the truth. You are, after all, bound to hear it before the rest of the Lords and Ladies of Westeros do. Jon?”

“ ** _Aye._** Well… as Bran’s greenseer powers and as a young maester-in-training’s research have shown, I am in fact… not a bastard. And not Lord Eddard’s son either.”

“Very interesting. Which means you should at least know who your father is.”

“Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Tyrion burst into laughter. “This is a joke, right? Did someone tell you that you are little Aegon exchanged with some baseborn baby just before the Mountain could crush your little skull against the wall? I know Flea Bottom is full of these legends… but little Aegon had the silver-blonde hair his father had, everyone knows it.”

“My father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and my mother was Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. They were married in the Northern style, but with my father resuming the old Targaryen polygamy to keep both wives. My father did not kidnap my mother: they married for love, and polygamy was the only way he could protect both the woman he loved and the woman he married for duty. My name would be Maekar, so I am Jon Maekar Targaryen, nephew of queen Daenerys, and cousin to Sansa, Arya, and Brandon Stark.” Jon proclaimed it solemnly, and loudly.

Tyrion put down his flagon, and stared into his plate.

“This is not a joke, right?” he asked after an interminable pause.

“No, it is not.”

“I hope you know that this… polygamy detail might still make you a bastard in many eyes.”

“My father had a septon and two maesters record the marriage, and the acceptance of the polygamous agreement from all three people involved. The reason he adduced was that Princess Elia could not have any more children. My father was scheming to remove the Mad King, and was for many the rightful king already, so he acted as such. And Daenerys already knows, and accepted it.”

“Which makes her… just your aunt, not the queen. And you, my hidden prince, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.”

“Daenerys is a queen in her own right, because she made herself queen… and I will relinquish the title in her hand anyway. I want nothing to do with a throne in the South.”

“So… you spent the night in Sansa’s room to ensure you become the Lord of Winterfell instead? I must change my opinion about your decision-making skills. Quick, and straight to the core of the matter.” If Tyrion felt some jealousy, no one could tell, but many suspected.

Jon reddened. “Lord Tyrion, I fear there is a misunderstanding. We simply talked, and then we fell asleep, that’s all.”

Arya, for all of her calmness, visibly let out some air. Tyrion looked at Jon to see if he could recognise signs of a lie, but it was hard to tell. Jon was, as he knew, not a good liar, and his expression looked honest to the highest degree. However, he was quite red, and he couldn’t tell if it was from blushing or from rage. “In that case, I would like to congratulate you for spending the night in a room with a beautiful Northern lady _who is not your sister_ only to talk. Pod and I are impressed.” And he raised his cup.

“Lord Tyrion, you underestimate yourself. I recall you behaving not very differently with that very same Northern lady, some years ago,” a voice from behind them replied. “I am surprised you announced it at breakfast, informally, and without me, Jon.” It was difficult to tell if Sansa was angry or simply slightly disappointed.

“It was me who forced him to do that, Sansa. Jon had let it slip that he spent the night in your room,” corrected Arya. “Some of us had seen Jon coming back to his room in the morning. Everybody talked, Jon talked, and things came out.”

“So, now people **_will_** think the nature of our night was not the one it really was, thanks to the announcement that Jon is my cousin. As if the announcement itself was not a complicated matter already. Will you **_please_** let me take care of strategies, in the future? This goes for both of you, Arya and Jon.”

Tyrion stopped the family quarrel immediately. “Lady Sansa, forgive me, but how exactly did you think you could have kept the whole thing a secret for… _how long_?”

“I have called a Great Northern Council that should be held as soon as the Lords and Ladies are here.”

“And meanwhile you, your siblings, this… young maester Sam, Daenerys and presumably Jorah…”

“Yes, Daenerys’ court would have known before the Council.”

“My lady, you are naïve if you believe the secret would not have come out before the Council. I guess you are familiar with Lord Varys and his practices? Lord Varys is only the most skilled one, but there are others gathering whispers. Ah, young royals! But I am surprised that Jorah did not tell you the same. Oh, I guess his current happiness makes him less bright than he usually is. Even his brooding is not what it used to be. Thank the gods we have Jon here, our Targaryen-Stark! Come on, lad, I have never seen a prince brood so much… although your father **_was_** known for his melancholic moods. Oh, now I see… **_That’s_** where you got that from!”

“Prince Rhaegar was known for many other things. Things we should discuss soon, Jon. The game of thrones you are all focusing on is nothing.” With these words of reprimand, Bran made his appearance at breakfast, making everyone even more uncomfortable. “Jon being a prince in Westeros means nothing. He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.”

 

 

## Jorah and Daenerys’ chamber

 

“So, I do not understand. Are you worried because the truth is already out? The Northern lords will not hear of it until they are here anyway, because they have no birds to whisper to them – maybe Lord Manderly could, but not the others -, and the Southrons are no concern of ours right now. The servants and the guards can talk as much as they want: they speak of mermaids and fairies as well, so a secret prince will only be a variation on their tales. Or are you worried about the more private part of what happened?” Jorah was very curious, and sensed that Jon had probably watered down the real extent of his night conversation with Sansa.

Even if Jon had omitted the kiss, Jorah was not stupid, and had noticed some emotional involvement and embarrassment that he simply connected to his suspicion that the two had, in reality, already developed some feelings.

“About all of it.”

“Lady Sansa does not strike me as the kind of woman who does not tell if anything has angered her, Jon,” said Daenerys. “So far, she does not seem angry about the handmaiden waking you up together, or about you having what Jorah calls ‘morning wood’. As for the breakfast table learning of your identity, I fear Tyrion is right. What do you think, Jorah?”

“Tyrion is right, but whoever Jon is does not change much as far as our war against the Walkers is concerned. As for the aftermath, I don’t think Cersei harboured many illusions that she could reprise her reign in peace.”

Jon said nothing, and Jorah knew then.

“So, it’s about Sansa.”

“About Sansa. And Bran.”

“Your devotion to her **_was_** very touching… swearing to wage war to Cersei because you had promised her she would get her revenge surely made me think. But I advise you not to rush into anything. Court her a little, if you want, if you think you feel something for her, but look around too. No one is forcing you to marry right now, and this is a first for one of your lineage. Enjoy it. As for Bran’s words… I don’t understand. We already know what’s out there. What could he possibly tell you that could scare us more? Can he see the future too? Has he seen something? For all we know, that could have been one of Rhaegar’s favourite poems or songs, one that left his mark on him, one that maybe was simply inspired by the White Walkers.”

“Not that I know, but what do I know?” said Jon.

“Jorah, are you suggesting my brother Rhaegar might have been a little mad?” Daenerys’ ego had been wounded by Jorah’s rationalising words.

“My love, I was not suggesting that, but as much as you cherish his memory, and as positive as his figure seems to be now, he was human like us, and humans make mistakes. He surely handled his second marriage terribly, since the whole country went to war because of it, so he might have read something and mistakenly considered it a prophecy even if it was only poetry.”

Jon noticed Daenerys was not pleased with this sudden turn of the conversation, and  - as he had previously revealed to his aunt - was a little scared by her mood right now. Jorah, on the other hand, was calm like nothing had happened.

Daenerys looked like she would burst into a fit of rage any time soon for a while. Then, as quickly as she had worked herself up, she also calmed down. “I… guess there is some wisdom in what you say.”

“I do sometimes give good advice, or so I was told by a young and beautiful queen once.”

“Beware, good Ser, that queen might have been on a hunt for a husband! Don’t overestimate your skills!” she japed, and then kissed his cheek.

Jon was impressed by how well the couple worked politically and personally, but he felt the discussion about his father was more important than anything else. “Who was my father in truth? Someone who threw an entire country in chaos because he misread a poem while he was in love? Someone who had the same visions as Bran? And what if Bran is misreading his visions? The Red Priestess surely made her mistakes when interpreting them!”

“Well, Jon, I don’t think the visions concerning you can be misread. It also all fits, and I speak here as someone who was alive then. As for this ‘song of ice and fire’, I fear it will be up to you after your conversation with Bran to see what to make of it and of your father’s interest in it. Now, do you think we should first meet as joined courts or should we wait for you to come back from your conversation with Bran?”

“I am sure I will have to talk to Bran first. Apparently, my father knew something about our enemy, and we cannot talk about the war if we haven’t discovered what he knew.”

“Jon, would you please ask Bran about our common dream on the ship too?” requested Daenerys.

**

After Jon had left their chamber to go to Bran, Daenerys asked: “What do you make of all this? As if Ser Jaime’s strange appearance in the Riverlands alone wasn’t enough to fill our council.”

“My queen, I believe the only thing we can do is wait. Wait for young Brandon to share his visions, wait for Ser Jaime and Lord Edmure to arrive, and hope it is not too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not resist playing a prank on readers by keeping the opening scene "anonymous" for a little while!


	10. Shadows of the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is free from the shadows of the past. So, instead of heading directly to a more strategic and political court meeting, our friends at Winterfell have to confront themselves with their shadows. How will it go?  
> The chapter features three micro meta-fictions: 1) Rhaegar, Elia and the "song of ice and fire" 2) the tourney of Harrenhal 3) the battle of the Trident.  
> TW: mention of rape, graphic description of violence and death, shell-shock reactions. If necessary skip the paragraphs (there are either titles or "warning signs").  
> Very dark chapter with some hope and a few jokes or tender moments.  
> All the usual disclaimers apply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deconstruct and demystify prophecies and so on. I do not "believe" in them, so to speak. I think they have "something", but they have also been tampered with, and can be changed.  
> I do not agree with the most widespread interpretations of Rhaegar. While I am disgusted by the dumb "annullment" thing from the show (and as you might have noticed, I turned it into polygamy), I do not hate Rhaegar for falling in love with another woman and loving her either. Come on, do we have to defend arranged marriages? I surely do not. So, I portrayed him in a very human but not despicable way.  
> I changed the timeline in order to have Aegon born shortly before the tourney, and the elopement not long after it (the show timeline aged most characters up anyway, so I thought this should work.

## Winterfell’s library, partially restored after the damage inflicted by the Boltons thanks to Sansa’s wise rule, to Bran’s visions and to Sam’s wisdom

“Come in, Jon, we were waiting for you.”

Jon noticed Bran was not alone. Sam and Gilly were there too, looking none too pleased. “I thought this was some private matter,” Jon commented, knowing that he had avoided Bran for far too long and that he had many matters to discuss with him.

“Nothing is private to me, if I manage to track it down the meanderings of time and space. And the War for the Dawn is most certainly not a private matter, Jon. Sit down, now. We will wait for Daenerys and Jorah. Lord Howland will be here soon too.”

 _What?_ “I thought Daenerys was meeting her court for some preliminary discussion, waiting for the Winterfell court to join hers.”

“She was indeed, but I summoned her and her husband.”

“And… Lord Howland…how…”

“As soon as Meera got back home, she has told everything about our journey beyond the Wall to him, and then he knew what he had to do. No need to summon him, he will be here by noon.”

“Did you see this in a vision?”

Bran showed him a parchment. “They have ravens in Greywater Watch too. Clever, reliable, and faster than ours. The crannogmen might shy away from other men quite often, but know very well how to deal with creatures of the earth.” The hint of a smile appeared, and Jon didn’t know if it made him more human or creepier. He hadn’t shown a single emotion so far, and that smile looked so forced on him.

“Come in,” Bran told the couple, who had just appeared at the door. “Jorah, don’t sit by the fire. Let your wife sit there.”

 _Seven Hells._ “Bran… have you already seen our meeting in a vision?”

“No, but I have seen the past, and this is enough to tell me that I would rather have Daenerys sitting by the fire than Jorah.”

Jon saw fear in Daenerys’ eyes, probably a first for the woman, and noticed Jorah swallowing uneasily.

“What about Sansa? Will she come too?”

“Sansa has to oversee Winterfell and the North. That is her duty now. Now, since we are all here, I am ready to tell you all that I have found out so far. It is not all there is, because the weirwoods are like books: you have to discover where the right book is and what page is it that you seek, and then be lucky to find that page in time. As you can understand, it takes a long time to do that.”

Jon found this curious, and so did Sam. The latter addressed the matter. “You said you were trained by Bloodraven and by the Children of the Forest. Didn’t they guide you in this… exploration? Isn’t there anything you can do to… become faster, or more precise, or both? Is it only a matter of luck if we find something?”

Jon added: “Because luck might not be enough, especially not when the Army of the Dead is marching on Eastwatch, and was not so far away last we knew.”

“Unfortunately, the Night King caught us wandering through the meanders of time, and attacked us in our cave. Bloodraven and the Children were killed. Only Meera Reed and I escaped. I have to do with what I have learned so far.”

Daenerys was more interested in another piece of information. “So, it is true that my ancestor Brynden Rivers was a… sorcerer? It was no slander?”

“I would not refer to him as a sorcerer but yes, he had powers. He was a greenseer.”

Daenerys was not familiar with the term. “What is a greenseer?”

It was Jorah who answered the question. “I thought they were just a myth. Anyway, they were powerful beings with blood of the First Men, capable of having visions from the past and future, to warg into animals, to control our sacred heart trees and much more.”

“A Targaryen bastard who choose not to revive dragons and control them, but associated himself with trees? Why go for the less powerful means?”

“Daenerys, I fear your ancestor might have known something we only discovered recently, and he might have decided **_trees_** are, in fact, more useful that dragons. Or he might have foreseen you would have taken care of the dragons.” Jorah was very diplomatic and understanding; Jon, Sam, Gilly, and even Bran were surprised that he did not lash out at the indirect lack of respect for the weirwoods and for Northern lore. But Jorah knew Daenerys, her impetuosity, her ego, and her misdirected good heart, so he swallowed some of his own First Men pride and showed her another perspective on the matter.

Bran jumped in: “Thank you, Jorah. It is true. Bloodraven knew of the impending threat. Dragons can be useful, but without the greensight we would not have known so much about the White Walkers. We would have to do with what Sam and Jon have told us so far.”

Jorah’s mind had wandered further. “Interesting person, Brynden Rivers. He had Valyrian blood on his father’s part and First Men blood on his mother’s part, and in truth left the Night’s Watch to carry on the very same mission the Watch was originally created for. You know, now that I put it like this, it seems like Jon is in part his heir too, not just you, Brandon.”

Bran had not thought of it. “Prince Rhaegar had grasped Jon would have a role to play, but he never thought of Bloodraven, at least not in the visions I was made privy to.”

## Dragonstone, more than twenty years ago…

The baby looked healthy enough, and seemed to take after his father: violet eyes, silver hair, and love for music. Unfortunately, neither Rhaegar nor Elia could simply enjoy these facts, since Elia still wasn’t strong enough to stay out of bed for long, and Rhaegar himself felt badly for Elia.

Staying in bed most of the time was boring. Dragonstone was certainly not the Water Gardens, but nevertheless Elia would have enjoyed walking in the sun, smelling the herbs and spices that Rhaegar had ordered be sowed all over the island. It was one of the things they shared: the perfume of the herbs, the taste of them… it was enough to make Elia feel a little like home in Dorne, and it was pleasant for Rhaegar, a man always looking for beauty in every aspect of life.

Besides, Rhaegar was also _very interested_ in some herbs for reasons that had very little to do with their aroma or taste. He had never managed to grow the famous Shade of the Evening trees, but he had discovered other herbs and plants that helped him understand more, see more, feel more. Most of these herbs also helped him make Elia feel better, so he felt reassured and continue pursuing this interest of his.

“Rhaegar? **_Rhaegar!_** Where are you now? Have you heard what I said?” asked Elia.

Rhaegar was shaken out of his deep thoughts, and almost dropped his precious harp. “I… apologise, Elia.”

“Aegon and I are waiting for the song you promised to sing us. Is it something you have written for him, then?”

“No, I didn’t have to write it myself. My son has had a song for centuries, at least.” And Rhaegar’s eyes seemed to stare far away once again.

Elia sighed. It was so difficult to deal with him. She did not doubt that he had discovered something important, but she didn’t even share all of his certainties either. And as useful as some of his herbs were, she noticed that Rhaegar sometimes relied too much on their effects to interpret songs, or events. His melancholic nature had become even more distant, his behaviour had become dangerous – he had burned himself once, for instance, trying to chase something that was in the flames – and he also felt constantly guilty for being distant, melancholic, and for bringing her into all of it.

“Rhaegar! Have you drunk one of your potions before visiting us?” she asked gently but firmly.

“It was a few hours ago already.”

“You **_didn’t have to_**. A simple song you like would have sufficed.”

“Elia, my dear, Aegon is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire.”

“Rhaegar, we just love to hear you play and sing. If Aegon will end up to be the saviour of humanity, he will just do his duty when the time is right. I don’t see how singing him this particular song now would change things. And I certainly don’t see the need for drinking one of your strong potions before singing for your son!”

“My dear wife, you know that I have to feel what I am singing, to sing it good.”

“This is not true! You are a marvellous singer and player, and I am worried at the quantity of potions you are currently consuming.”

“I am only trying to find the right potion for you to heal, Elia. You heard what the maesters have said… you cannot have a third child, and there must be another one, because it is clear that the dragon has three heads. So I must be the one who heals you.”

“And you are testing these herbs _for a womanly ailment_ on _yourself_ , of course. Haven’t you thought that maybe you might have this third child with someone else, someone you might meet in the future?” Elia was not stupid, and she knew that she was dangerously dancing with the Stranger. So, she had already accepted in her heart that Rhaegar might one day find himself a new queen. Especially when he knew that she had never felt for him what she had felt for one of her lovers who had come and gone before their marriage.

“Elia… we might not be bound by that kind of love the bards sing of, but I will not let you die so that I can have the third head of a dragon.”

“The prince of Dragonstone, powerful as he may be in the realm, has no power over life and death. It might be that one of your potions kills me, it might be that you think I am healed and then childbirth kills me this time.”

Rhaegar saddened even more. “We are trapped. These prophecies are a prison we cannot escape.”

“Are they, Rhaegar? I think we still have choices. What if you give up this… third child obsession? Isn’t Aegon enough?”

“Then when the White Walkers wake up again, humanity will have no chance, and winter will reign over our world forever.”

“What if this third head is someone else from your family? You have a brother still, and cousins, and who knows who might be on the way. What if one of your ancestors was so much in love with your Targaryen heritage that he inserted a tribute to the first Aegon in a prophecy concerning this… matter of… what was it, balance between powers, seasons, and attitudes, and feelings? You said it yourself: your skills in the Old Tongue are not as good as your High Valyrian ones. One of these days I fear you will stumble off the cliffs while deep in your stupor after trying a new powerful draught, and then your prophecies will be soon forgotten.”

“They will not be forgotten. The Old Gods have eyes. Someone will know.”

“Rhaegar, you scare me, you really do. The idea of… something watching us… oh, please, just sing us this song. I hope little Aegon likes it.”

## Back to the library, current day

“So, my father made some… draughts in order to… WHAT?”

“To have visions, to connect with gods, or greenseers – he must have known, at a certain point, that there was something true in the legends of the North -, to understand things better. I still don’t have proof he knew it was his ancestor, but it seems like he knew about the greensight, at least.”

Jorah could not resist mocking Jon. “Must be why you cannot keep your ale down. You are used to herbal draughts, not cereals.”

“The Others take you, uncle.”

Daenerys stifled a laughter, then asked: “My brother knew about the White Walkers then, and thought a son of his had to play an important role in saving humanity. What do you make of this, Lord Brandon?”

Jorah, always the more rational voice, suggested: “And Princess Elia suggested the words might have been misleading. She suggested forgery might have occurred, or other Targaryens or other people with Targaryen blood might have been this elusive third head. Very interesting. I would side with Princess Elia on this, considering that Aegon was brutally killed during the sack, so clearly this promise was broken twenty years ago. And… what was that thing about powers, seasons, attitudes, and feelings?”

“That was what the song was about. Unfortunately, I don’t understand the Old Tongue.”

“Sadly, I have some grasp of it, but I was not blessed with greensight. So, this ice and fire matter…is as simple as a commoner might think, a matter of… balance of things?” asked Jorah.

“A balance that Rhaegar finally thought he might achieve by having a son with a woman who made possible for him to combine duty and love, fire and ice. Lyanna Stark, the woman who stole his heart. Who was, incidentally, the third woman he lay with.”

Jorah thought about it for a while. “It makes sense. Duty and love… his duty to produce as many heirs to the throne as possible, to have a strong, clever, capable queen at his side, and his love for her, both combined. Fire and ice, Targaryen and Stark. You say she was also the third woman he made love to… well, I believe you, and it might make sense.” _I hope he has not watched **me** with women too, although Daenerys might even find it funny to know he has watched me with others or with her _ Jorah thought spontaneously. “A **_song_** of ice and fire… something with a **_harmony_**. Balance, harmony. Or a **_son_** of ice and fire? Princess Elia was right in invoking caution when dealing with these things. A misunderstanding, a false translation, a misheard or miscopied word… or maybe an intended pun?” Sam looked at Jorah with admiration while the latter was speaking, and thus recognized a fellow book-lover and curious mind.

“I guess we will never know, since I don’t speak the Old Tongue, you cannot enter my vision, and Rhaegar himself worked on sources that might or might not have been accurate. But what we know is that Rhaegar knew about the Walkers rising again, that there is something important to discover about balance, and that Jon is important. Rhaegar had heard from Aemon that there had already been a few cases of Brothers who had deserted or gone mad – or both – claiming they had seen the Others during ranging. So, the man Father beheaded that day was not the first one. There had been sporadic cases even about twenty years earlier.”

“Jon has already been important. Without him we would not know enough about them, we would not have saved hundreds of people from beyond the Wall, we would not know Valyrian steel kills them, and we would not have our Sam here. But what about Daenerys? Could there be another Targaryen still alive, a third one?”

“No, but there is some Targaryen blood in Westeros still. Gendry Waters, or some other bastard of House Targaryen, or House Baratheon. Or maybe Princess Elia was right, and the three heads detail was posthumously inserted, and means nothing, or was a cue for Rhaegar to know that it would be his third lover the right one…” suggested Sam.

But Gilly had another idea. “Or maybe it is a Targaryen who still isn’t born yet.”

Jorah did not like this turn of the conversation, and tried to steer it away from Daenerys before it could even go there. “Don’t put too much pressure on Jon here. I would not like to see him hurry into a marriage and fatherhood because of a prophecy we could be misinterpreting.”

“I am not talking about Jon. **_You_** are married to a Targaryen.”

Daenerys took matters into her hands. “My dear, I will never have children. My womb was cursed.”

“Curses can be lifted, everybody knew it beyond the Wall. You Southron have forgotten many things. Craster protected us by sacrif…”

“Enough, Gilly” interrupted Sam.

“No, let her speak” darted Daenerys.

“Craster kept us safe beyond the Wall by sacrificing his sons to the Walkers, for example.”

Jorah intervened: “You mean, it has to involve a sacrifice?”

“Yes, but not necessarily in the way you think. Craster’s sons are now Walkers, they weren’t killed.”

“So, it is more like a… balance thing?” suggested Jon. “Oh, and now I am sorry I did not kill that cunt myself, now that I know that he actively produced new enemies.”

Daenerys had difficulties understanding all this. “So, who is this Craster…”

Jon cut it short. “Believe me, you don’t want to know.”

Jorah thought about all they had discussed so far, and concluded: “In the end, we don’t know much more than before. We can only infer that there is hope… that the solution is out there, but we still don’t know what it is.”

“Sometimes, hope, or faith, are all we have left, Jorah. Without them, I would not have my dragons now, for example.” Daenerys’ look told Jorah also the unspoken part of her reasoning, and he squeezed her hand to communicate he understood and agreed, and hoped.

Jon had a question still. “Bran, did you perchance see how my father and my mother met and fell in love?”

“Oh, that’s a story even Lord Howland could tell you in part, since it all started with him. And you have to thank Jorah for most of it.”

## Lord Whent’s great tournament, Harrenhal, more than twenty years ago

“Lord Jorah, thank you for your help. You are a good friend.” Lyanna smiled brightly at the handsome lord, and thought that if the world were fairer, she would be marrying a man like him, when not directly him – she definitely would not have minded -, instead of _conservative, monotone whoremonger from the South_ Robert Baratheon. But Lord Mormont had already a wife he loved, who was home swelling with his child. She, Lyanna, was only a girl in his eyes, more than ten years younger than him, and already promised by her father to another man. Even Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, equally handsome, equally interesting, was already taken and a father to two children, and she felt like she was born in the wrong generation. _It seems like I will have to take that oaf, because there is no one left. Or I could flee where nobody could force me to marry._

“Whatever mischief you are up to, I am sure it is something worth the risk of being scolded by your lord father. But promise me it does not involve anything that could be considered high treason, or anything that might harm you,” Jorah requested, with one of his friendly grins.

“I promise.” She would have kissed him. His wife was a lucky woman. But she couldn’t kiss him, so she simply promised him solemnly what he asked her to do.

“Then rest assured. You are spending this whole evening drinking and singing with us Bear Islanders. If Lord Rickard wants to punish me for keeping you up late, well… I don’t think some flogging can hurt me worse than I have been hurt during this tourney, and as for possible extra taxes, I think the second price in the mêlée will do.”

“Oh… I apologise for my betrothed’s behaviour during the mêlée, Lord Jorah. He likes swinging his hammer any time he can, and he has no measure. But you fared well, my lord. I just hope the bruises and pain disappear soon.” She grabbed his forearm delicately. The gesture affected him more than he wanted to, but as the model husband he had managed to be for years now, he convinced himself as usual that it was just some innocent fondness for a woman he had seen grow up.

Besides, he was quite convinced her mischief involved some handsome squire or young knight. He was very happy to know she would be having fun – like he used to do himself - **_and_** also be paying Robert Baratheon back in the same coin. He only hoped she managed it without bringing a child home… but he could not address the issue without embarrassing both of them. Therefore, he hoped she knew what to do in order not to get pregnant, at least one of the two possibilities. “Thank you, my lady. So, enjoy your evening.”

And Lyanna went to retrieve her Knight of the Laughing Tree gear to get rid of it permanently. She had hidden it all in a hollow tree, and thought that ale, wine, songs, dances, and all the other entertainments that came along with a tourney were enough to distract most attendees while she would be erasing any trace of her revenge plot.

Unfortunately – or luckily, depending on the perspective - she had not considered King Aerys’ paranoia, and so she was surprised by two shadows in the dark, one of which did not hesitate to grab her and put a dagger to her throat.

“Now, let us see what we have here.” Lyanna could feel the man was wearing an armour.

“Arthur, put her down. Haven’t you seen who she is?” Lyanna knew that voice, and felt relieved.

The man put her down, and Prince Rhaegar stretched out his hand. “I apologise for my friend’s manners, Lady Lyanna. Luckily, the moon has enlightened your features as I looked upon you, and I recognised the beautiful lady who first cried at my song, then poured a flagon of wine on her brother’s head to punish him for taunting her tears.”

There was no mock admiration in the prince’s words, only courteous words and genuine amusement. In the moon, Rhaegar looked even more beautiful, like a male fairy of the woods. She gladly gave him her hand for him to kiss, and discovered that in this world there were also men who did not love their wives as Jorah Mormont did, without being cunts like Robert Baratheon.

## Back to the library…

“Oh, Jorah, you **_were_** destined to protect us Targaryens. Without you, Lyanna and Rhaegar would not have met,” Daenerys taunted Jorah a little.

Jorah smiled. “I had suspected she was up to something akin to one of Brandon’s favourite past-times, I admit it. I mean your uncle, of course, Ned’s brother.”

“I suppose you are not talking about sword-fighting” said Jon.

“It depends on what kind of _sword_ you are talking about.” With these words, Sam was left with the task of explaining Jorah’s jape to Gilly. Daenerys had not only understood but also appreciated the bawdy metaphor, and Bran did not need Jorah’s tales to know more about his namesake’s interests.

“I should also have known that she was the Knight of the Laughing Tree. As I should have known she had not been kidnapped. I feel terribly about all this. Maybe if I had mustered some courage and told her brothers…”

“Prince Jorah, my father might have believed you, but Robert would not have listened. His ego was bruised. You remember him, don’t you? Remember what he did on the Trident, only to satisfy his ego? He might as well have lost his life, instead of claiming Rhaegar’s one.”

“You are right. “

Jon’s curiosity was triggered. “Jorah, did you see my father die?”

Daenerys turned to look at Jorah directly in the eyes, and the sad expression she had seen on him the day he had confessed his betrayal was there. “Daenerys, you knew I was on the Trident. Ser Barristan even mentioned it. What’s there to tell? You know what happened.”

“Then… what’s making you so uncomfortable?”

“It was my first real taste of war. The battle at Stoney Sept had been nothing in comparison. On the other hand, the Trident was hard on me. I simply don’t want to talk about that day” Jorah was visibly uneasy and reticent, and Daenerys thought it had something to do with her.

“I am not angry. I know you fought with Robert Baratheon. Tell me about the Trident.”

“I will” intervened Brandon, disregarding Jorah’s grimace entirely.

## The battle of the Trident

“Ned, please, make him reason. This is madness. It’s not a duel won that will give us Lyanna back. We have to win the war. And he only just recovered. Prince Rhaegar just entered the war…”

“I have tried to talk to him, Jorah, but what do you want to do? Are these your best mounted men?”

One of the women looked at the lord in an unfriendly manner. “Yes, these are my best mounted fighters.”

Jorah was already trying hard not to vomit. The stench was unbearable. Hacked bodies, shit, caked blood, and mud, screams of pain and clangs of metal and steel clashing. The water run dark too. Administrating the King’s justice as a Lord apparently had not prepared him for this. Skirmishes with Wildlings or rogue Ironborn neither. Stoney Sept had been a mummer’s play for children, in comparison. **_This_** was war, 40.000 men per side clashing, death and destruction everywhere.

Now, he had the gut feeling it would only get worse.

Escorting a spurned lover to a stupid duel - provided the prince accepted the duel and no one slaughtered them all on their way to him. What a stupid way to die it would be: Robert was overestimating his recovery stage, and surely, prince Rhaegar would put an end to his childish behaviour with a targeted swing of his sword. And then who knows if them Northerners would ever manage to get Lyanna back from her imprisonment in the hands of the Targaryens without their strong and fierce leader.

However, the Gods somehow saw fit to grant Robert his wish, and after slaughtering uncountable foot soldiers on their trail, the retinue saw the prince, mounted on his horse by a crossing. And the prince agreed to face Robert in a duel.

As Jorah had imagined, the two horses fell first, clumsier and dumber than men. Rhaegar jumped gracefully down his, just before Robert swung his warhammer and hit it. Rhaegar put a lance through Robert’s one and got out of the way quickly. Jorah could see Robert hat already injured himself by falling off the horse, so he braced himself for the worst.

Rhaegar was quick, and agile, and his sword cut Robert a few times. Jorah was counting the seconds remaining for the young rebel – and possibly for them too, unless prince Rhaegar agreed to keep at least him and Ned as hostages, maybe even Martyn Cassel.

But a duel soon takes a toll on its participants, and tiredness affects precision and speed first.

It was exactly what condemned the prince of Dragonstone. A clumsier move gave Robert the time and space to direct one single blow on the prince’s chest. Jorah didn’t even realise it until the prince fell heavily on his knees in the water, the hammer carved into his armour, a few rubies jumping off into the water.

Robert – and Ned, and Jorah, and their retinue – watched the prince fall over, face in the water, then watched Robert fall on his knees too, exhausted.

“Jorah! Jorah, please, help me!” ordered Ned while dismounting his horse in a hurry.

Jorah could not even blink or swallow, let alone speak. He mechanically followed his liege-lord’s order, gave Martyn his reins, and helped Ned lift Robert from the water.

Robert was mumbling. “I killed him. I killed him.”

Ned answered: “I know, I know. The Targaryen forces are scattering. You scared them all!”

 _The stupid words one says to a dying man._ Jorah had often wondered if it wasn’t best to just execute a man without speaking to him. The only time he had been glad to speak to the condemned was when he had pleaded for mercy and asked to be sent to the Wall instead. Beheading a man for poaching seemed extreme to him… but maybe he simply had to grow up a little more. Anyway, he was glad he had sent that one poacher to the Wall instead.

Jorah was glad his private thoughts isolated him partially from the scene. The river stank terribly from the battle. The prince’s corpse lay beside them. Robert was heavy, and even for two strong men like him and Ned it was not easy to lift him.

“Give me back my hammer,” mumbled Robert.

“Let me at least put you on my horse, Robert. The hammer is not going anywhere.” He was bleeding, and Jorah was glad the Targaryen forces were retreating, because otherwise they would have all died.

They had reached the horses, and Robert seemed to manage to lift himself on Ned’s one.

“Jorah, could you please go and recover Robert’s hammer?”

It was only fair that his brother in all but blood would stay with him, but he did not like one bit going back those few steps. However, disobeying an order cost his head, so he went back to the crossing in silence and dread.

He was not the only one. From the other side, he saw that a foot soldier and a white cloak were cautiously trying to reach the black figure in the water, but stopped at the sight of the tall full-plated figure of the Lord of Bear Island. Then, the white cloak, all stained in blood, reprised moved forth, visibly limping and straining.

“I am only here to retrieve the Prince’s body, Lord Mormont. I don’t mean to attack you, unless you are here to prevent me from doing my duty. In that case, I will have to do mine.”

The Kingsguard removed his helm, and Jorah, lifting his visor, recognised Ser Barristan Selmy.

“You are not going far in that state.” Jorah put his hand on his sword nonetheless, distrusting the man instinctively.

“So you mean to put me out of my misery?”

“Only if that is your wish, Ser Barristan.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“To retrieve Robert’s hammer.”

“I promise you I am not here to fight. Help me lift the prince from the water. I will not manage it alone, in this state.”

Jorah reached the prince first, bent down, took him by his shoulder and lifted him. He noticed the hammer had carved his way into the prince’s chest, deforming the armour, and had stuck there. Ser Barristan had finally reached him too: he positioned himself behind the body with huge effort, kneeled down and grabbed it by the shoulders. Jorah positioned himself in the most stable way he could, put both his hands on the hammer’s grip, and pulled.

The hammer came out, and with it shattered rubies, and a good portion of the breast plate. And after that, an only partially liquefied gore came out, in many shades of red, with some bone shards and meat, all pouring out the carve in the prince’s chest into the river. The torso bent unnaturally forth, missing the support of the chest and of the intact armour.

 _I am fine._ His hands were trembling. _I have retrieved the hammer. I have nothing else to do here._

“Ser Barristan…” he was breathing heavily “… I wish you good fortune.”

Ser Barristan was crying, and Jorah wished he could cry too. Instead, he was blocked, and watched his childhood’s hero remove the prince’s helm. Before his long silvery hair could fall down and cover it. Jorah had a glimpse of the previously beautiful face. It was not grimacing in pain, but it was strange, eerie, not the face he remembered from Harrenhal.

“What are you still doing here, Lord Mormont?” Ser Barristan sounded enraged.

He fled the scene, but after a few steps he stumbled and fell on his knees. Finally, he managed to let it all out, vomiting like the first time he got drunk and his aunt had to carry him home from the inn.

## Back to the library…

Jon was quite worried that Bran had seen it fit to make Jorah relive such a bad experience. Nothing could change the fact that his father had died of a hammer blow that day, but surely having Jorah cry and vomit while kneeling on the floor in the library now was not necessary.

Sam hurried to help Jorah first, followed by a visibly slowed down Daenerys who knelt beside her husband, pale as a ghost.

“Sam, I fear aunt Daenerys is next.”

“I honestly do not think she is going to vomit. She is used to worse.”

 _Quite a strangely rude reaction from Sam_ , but Jon let it slip. _Might be his career has changed him a little bit._

“My bear… are you all right?” She was trembling too. “I had no idea… oh, poor Jorah.” She had dreaded to discover something unpleasant about her husband. Instead, she had discovered something private and admirable about him. She had always seen him as a killing machine when he was on a battlefield, and in fact he still was a killing machine as far as fighting was concerned. But she was touched by the image of a young Jorah struggling to become the hardened lord and the soldier he was expected to become. “Samwell, why is he throwing up like this?”

“I think he has just relived something he thought he had forgotten, or gotten over, and he is reliving his reaction to… well, you know. Many people need time to get used to the horror of war. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Jorah breathed heavily and finally lifted his head. “I apologise.” His fierceness started to resurface. “I suppose not all details were necessary.” Daenerys recognised in the rude statement towards Brandon the brave, arrogant and stubborn knight she had seen often, and felt relieved. She, Sam, and Gilly helped Jorah to some water, called one of the servants, and had him sit down again on the chair. “Are you and Jon all right?”

“My bear, it’s you we should be worrying about.”

“Please, don’t. I fought the rest of that war and many other wars afterwards. I will be fine. It was just… hard for me that day, and I didn’t need to hear a detailed retelling.”

Sam shared his views. “It only speaks highly of you that you have a sensitive side, Jorah Mormont. I can imagine you have always followed the Northern way, the one your father implemented at the Wall too. I can imagine you would not **_burn_** people to execute them. I can imagine you would never advocate such means of execution, and you would try to make people change their mind, if you were to hear they meant to choose fire in stead of the sword.”

And Daenerys knew then what they were up to. “You are not here because of the Others’ lore, are you, Samwell Tarly?”

“That’s not correct. I am here for that **_too_**. But it was not my only concern. Nobody likes those icy monsters, but I fear I am uncomfortable with fire monsters all the same. My father was a dreadful man, but I only wished he stopped being a dreadful man. I never wished for him to burn in his armour. And my brother… he was a good lad. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What is he talking about?” demanded to know Jon.

“Daenerys executed my father and my brother after the battle of the Blackwater, because they refused to bend the knee. She refused to have them beheaded, their bodies returned to my family, and had them burned by Drogon instead.”

She had been cornered, and what hurt her more was Jorah’s loud breathing out. She was ready to hear all the worst slurs against her, to hear her nephew deny her that throne he had promise to relinquish in her hands, but she dreaded Jorah’s reaction above all. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, and kept her eyes fixated to some point on the floor, a spot on one of the stones.

“Why did you burn them? And why execute them both?” She had never heard Jon speak like that. Never. Cold and demanding.

Tears pooled in her eyes. “I understand that you will not want to relinquish your claim…”

“I said, **why**. Why did you do that? I demand to know it. Sam deserves to know the truth. _Your husband_ deserves to know the truth.”

The unexpected happened. “Be careful, lad. This might be your home, but I will not have our nephew speak to my wife like that and claim to speak for me too.” He turned to his wife, squeezed her hand, and asked more calmly: “Daenerys, what happened? Did anything bad happen that day? Would you like to talk to me first, alone?”

The tears she let out gave Jorah the answer he was looking for. “Leave us alone. All of you. I will call you as soon as we are ready,” he commanded.

Jon shared one peculiar trait with his aunt, the capacity of letting his boiling rage explode suddenly. “You do not command me in my home and in _my kingdom_ , uncle.”

“I am _Queen Daenerys’_ advisor and husband, and this is a matter we have the right to discuss among us first. Unless, of course, you want to dissipate any doubt that the Mad King might be your grandfather, and behave accordingly.” Jorah had stood up, fierce and determined.

“It seems to me that the Mad King was your wife’s **_father_** , and as far as I know I am not the one who has recently burned people alive.” Daenerys had never seen or heard Jon shout, and only barely remembered Jorah being furious at some Dothraki or enemy, and she was sure the two either would have come to a brawl, or - worse - would have drawn their daggers or swords.

Samwell calmed them down. “I… I don’t want any revenge, and I don’t want any blood, please. I am quite sure Daenerys had her own reasons, and I am ready to listen to them. I only want to be sure that this is not the future we are going to build for Westeros: merciless executing by fire. Please. Jon, let them talk. I trust Jeor’s son. I know you do too.”

Jon stared at him for an interminable lapse of time, then finally motioned to push Bran out of the room. “We will wait for your call, _Jorah_. Take as much time as you need.”

As soon as they were alone, Jorah wiped Daenerys’ tears away and grabbed her shoulders gingerly. “So, now, tell me what happened. Tell me everything.” He was calm, but firm, his hands meant to reassure her but also to keep some distance between them until she had opened up.

She looked up at him. She _knew_ the reason she had behaved like that. She had told him, told the entire court already once, not so long ago on Dragonstone, when talking about Meereen. “You were not by my side.”

“Do not underestimate yourself. You have taken many decisions without me, and as bad as some of those decisions might have been, you managed to stay alive and to sail to Westeros in the end, without me. Now, tell me. Did those men did something you could not forgive?”

“Jorah… we have talked about this before. You have always given me sound advice. Always. And you have always kept me… well, you have this gift, you adored me for so long, and that always reassured me of my charisma and my value, but you never shied away from telling me if I was acting like a child, or stupidly. And you never used long euphemistic sequences of words either: you simply said what you wanted to say. Believe me, I am not underestimating me. In fact, I have overestimated me. Besides, I have to tell you… I am not completely trusting Tyrion, and I did not felt at ease while listening to his opinion. Does he really hate his family that much?”

Jorah looked at her for a while, studying her. “So, you felt insecure, and threatened, and resorted to a demonstration of strength by fire, as is worthy of a Targaryen.”

“And I didn’t have you by my side, as I said.”

“You burned the maegi even though I frowned at your command to bind her to the pyre.”

“You were not officially my advisor – just my Queensguard, and our path together had only just begun -, I was not truly a queen, and I wanted my **_revenge_** then, on a woman who had killed my husband, my child, and my womb. It was a different situation. I never burned people once battles were over… only that episode in Meereen that Tyrion brought up when we got back to Dragonstone. Even on that occasion I remember I was terrified, worried, angry, and without you to advise me. Previously, you had convinced me to treat the Yunkai’i with more mercy than I had thought to do. Then, suddenly, you were gone from my life, and so was the certainty that no one would ever betray me. And everything changed.”

The happiness of their love and marriage had made Jorah forget that short tense moment during a council. But it was true: there had been two episodes already in which she had acted as a queen and chosen her dragons as a means to terrify people. Now, for the woman he loved, the friend he cherished, and the queen he served and worshipped, he had to address the issue and to understand. “So, you can assure me that if I had been at the Blackwater and I had advised you otherwise…”

“…I would have listened to you, and followed your advice.” It was true. Jorah might have angered her sometimes, with his rational views, his annoying experience and practical mind, and his penchant to caution, but she knew him, and she knew he usually had a point. Besides… she would never do anything that could part her from him, and she sensed that if she went down a path of fire and blood only, he would worry very much, and probably distance himself, even if it would cost him the woman he loved. She could see it in the inquiring looks, full of love but also of concern, and in the calm, chosen words he used to get as many things out of her as possible.

Jorah looked into her eyes and saw fear, sadness, and regret. He did not see anything else shading her soul. It all fit with what he knew of her, so he trusted his instinct, and inquired further. “What did Tyrion say, exactly?”

“He begged for me to put them into a cell for a while, to see if they changed their minds. He strongly advised me to spare the son at least. He asked me to behead them, not to burn them.”

“Tyrion made quite sense. Although… I don’t think a cell would have made Lord Tarly change his mind, for what I remember about him, and for what Samwell told me briefly. So I can guess Lord Tarly signed his sentence by himself. I definitely stand by the choice of beheading, in this cases. It’s quick, and clean. You know you can count on me for that, khaleesi? About the son… it’s difficult to say. In your stead, I would have talked to the son alone, to see if we would have been more keen on bending the knee… but keeping enemies in cells, or on their seats, can cost a lot. I will not deny that being merciful is not always the wisest choice, and even then many people might differ on the meaning of _mercy_.”

“You would be my royal executioner, too?”

“I was a lord myself, following the Northern custom, and I have killed for you many times already. Why would this be different?”

She caressed his hands on her shoulders. “You see? We need to be together. So, you don’t think I am a monster?”

“I know you all too well. I know that you are impulsive sometimes, and I know that when you are scared you can lash back or attack, ferociously even. I have been on the other side too, you see. The day you refused to show me mercy, even though I begged you to reconsider, to remember I had always been your faithful knight. But I also know you have a heart, I know you can listen and reconsider. I know brutality horrifies you… and that you resort to brutality for exactly this reason. I simply know you, all of your sides. And as you have seen, I am not that different. I threw up once and almost fainted, then went back to hacking people with my sword the following day. I sent a few poachers to the Wall, thanking the gods I didn’t have to cut their heads, then sold a couple of them to slavers, and I probably even thought it was a fate kinder than death – talking of mercy. I have never considered myself an oppressive and obnoxious lord, yet I was a lord, and I have certainly never dreamed of changing the world. Then I ended up helping you, not just because I was already in love with you, but also because you convinced me to follow you. Given all this, am I a monster? Some think I am. I am no white knight, but I am no monster either. And you… only those who haven’t seen you that day in Pentos, so scared, so alone, could not understand how you must feel when you feel threatened.”

“You know, that day… I was on the verge of tears. If you had only turned once and looked at me again… I would have forgiven you.”

“Then you know who you are. You know it very well. Just remember it, and you will be fine.”

“Now I want to explain myself to Sam, Gilly, and Jon. I hope they will listen as you did. I don’t want you to talk on my behalf.”

“Of course. But I have to talk to them too, as Jorah Mormont. I know you are my queen, but I am not just your husband. I have a right to speak out my mind, too.”

“As long as you and my nephew are not killing each other,” she reprimanded him

“I would rather fear a new Dance of Dragons, to be honest.”

“Do you think… it might come to that?”

“Not now. Not with the Others marching on. But I cannot assure you he will still want to see you on the Iron Throne if he does not feel like he can trust you. I hate to be the one to tell you this… he might not want the throne for himself, but he might still want to determine how the succession works, if he fears people might suffer under a new monarch. We will see if you can reassure him or not.”

Daenerys breathed out while stroking Jorah’s hands and forearms. “Thank you, Jorah, for being you, and for not turning your back on me.”

“Turn your back on you for being human?”

“You see me as a human, but many will see me as a monster for what I have done. You have heard Samwell.”

“I think Samwell meant **_your dragons_** by ‘fire monsters’, not you. He was upset, understandably, but he wasn’t enraged. As long as you keep the command over your dragons, and don’t let yourself be controlled by them and their power, you will be a fine ruler.” Jorah finally smiled, and the last of her fears dissipated. “You feared I would turn my back on you, though. Why would I? I know very well who you are and what you are capable of, and I also know we are bound to have our challenging moments. It will not be all lingering in bed or watching the sunset on a beach. It still does not make me love you any less.”

Daenerys grabbed one of his forearms, brought his hand to her lips, and suddenly he was hugging her, and she knew she was ready to speak to their friends.

**

Daenerys managed to tell them **_all the truth_** about her overreaction and for the first time let herself cry in public, because she realised tears made her human – and a sane human besides. She was not ashamed to reveal how being a queen had not always been easy for her, how lucky she had been a few times, and how tightly she had always clung to Jorah to find her real self.

Bran didn’t say anything – it was not his business, and he had made it clear. Sam and Gilly understood, especially when she bared all the details of the difficult start of her life as a khaleesi sold to a khal by her brother: the couple could relate to it for different reasons.

Jon… was a different matter. She could tell he had understood what she had said. Especially the rape parts touched him – Sansa had been raped by her husband too -. But he just refused to be completely forgiving as the others.

She was glad he at least had the grace to disclose what was bothering him so much that he could not forgive her already. “We live in the shadow of Aerys Targaryen, Daenerys. It’s looming over our heads. I knew it would be hard for the Northerners to trust you. Jorah **_told you_** they might even try to kill you still. If Samwell has received the tidings in a raven, many others will have heard of it. I have to admit now that it is difficult for me to trust you again, even though I trust Jorah. And I don’t want to think about the lords’ reaction. This is a disaster.”

“You are Aerys’ grandchild yourself. Who will watch over you, then? I at least have Jorah.”

“I have neither dragons nor wildfire. And so far I never burned anyone. In fact, I even killed someone to prevent him from dying in the flames. But if that’s what you advise me to do, I will see that someone close to me watches over me too. I promise it. Anything to erase the shadow of the Mad King from our lives, and from Westeros.”

Samwell thought they had enough of it, and saw it fit to stop it. “Don’t you think we should be discussing what we could learn from Brandon’s visions and what we could order him to look for in the following days? I, for my part, would like to learn more about Rhaegar’s herbs. It seems like he might have found something useful to cure people too. How many people die of their wounds, or in childbirth, or of diseases?”

Jon remembered: “Well, our main task is obviously finding out how to defeat the Night King. We can only suppose he is vulnerable to Valyrian steel and dragonglass as his fellows, but what if he is not? And what about his considerably advanced powers? What should we expect?”

Bran accepted the proposals: “I will try to discover more, but there is no map for the meandering of the weirwoods.”

But there was one thing Jorah wanted to hear still. “Gilly, could you tell me exactly what was it that this Craster did? I remember his name. My father wrote me he was a friend of the Watch beyond the Wall. Yet you said he sacrificed his sons to the Others…”

Another uncomfortable tale was thus heard, the story of Craster’s wives.

The story weighed emotionally on all the listeners, understandably. From the sad take on women’s fates, to the shady pact between Craster and the Watch, to the terrible pact between Craster and the Others. Even for Gilly, Jon, and Sam it was not easy to hear and think of all that again.

“My father did something dishonourable, in the end. I must admit that I feel better learning that all these stern paragons of honour were more human than we might have thought… my father, Lord Eddard, the Old Bear…” Jorah looked at Daenerys knowingly, and reassuringly. “But this revelation still leaves two questions unanswered: how did this Craster manage to discuss and agree to a pact? And how will this affect us… I mean the fact that some of the White Walkers are Craster’s sons?”

“I haven’t noticed anything particular when I fought them, nothing that could help us answer these two questions. When I was with the Free Folk, I learned that they first started striking in a very different way. Following them almost undercover, then carving away some of them one by one after bringing their cold mist, raising their new army slowly. They started attacking as an army usually does only recently. Probably because they finally gathered a proper army. The first who faced them in battle were we, the Brothers on the Fist of the First men, then Hardhome. They have a strategy, that much is clear. And I don’t know if we have the instruments to guess their strategy. The pattern is worrying: every time someone, such as the unknown brothers who buried the dragonglass, discovers something, then the people who gained the knowledge die. We were only left pieces of knowledge… the dragonglass, the Valyrian Steel, maybe a prophecy…”

Sam interrupted Jon and tried to bring back some lighter mood in the library: “Well, at least the one who discovered about Valyrian Steel came back from the dead! Oh, by the way, Jorah… I have a Valyrian steel sword I don’t use – never been a swordsman, Jon can tell you – and I guess you might want to have it. I stole it from my father!”

Jorah was surprised, and touched. “I… why me? With all the people able to wield a sword who will come to Winterfell…”

“Because I liked your father and so far I like you, you gave up your sword, you recently got married – you could use a gift - and I simply want you to have it. I suppose you will be amongst the most skilled and fiercest warriors on the ground,” and Daenerys ground her teeth “so you will need it.”

Daenerys wanted to suppress the feelings of dread that statement had elicited, but it was hard. She tried to shift her thoughts by joking: “Well, I wanted to be the one who gave Jorah a Valyrian steel sword. It seems only fitting that I should let you steal my prerogative. What is this sword called?”

“Heartsbane.”

“I hope you won’t mind if I order my husband and Lord Commander to change name immediately.”

## Sansa’s solar, later that day

“Promise me that if I ever give signs of madness you will kill me before I can start hurting people. You will be a queen, you can sentence me to death.” With those words, Jon announced his arrival quite unceremoniously.

Sansa put down her quill, a surprised and partially annoyed expression appearing. “Jon, I said **_I am not angry_** at you for what happened, and I am not hurt or scared. Besides, I would be grateful if you could stop barging in when I am calculating how much coin do we need to borrow from the Vale and how much food should the Manderlys try to buy and store. You are very dear to me, but I demand respect for my work. Surely, the man who cares for me as deeply as you showed recently can remember I would like to have people knock at my door before entering. It’s the second time you simply come in, so I could not help but notice.”

“I am sorry, Sansa. I was very much in my own thoughts both times, and worried. Anyway, I was not referring to… our awakening. I was talking about me being the Mad King’s grandson.”

“Did you perchance discover that Rhaegar was mad too? Is that what’s upsetting you?”

“No. At least, he didn’t seem mad like his father. But he was rather peculiar himself…”

“And that makes you worry?”

“My aunt has scared me.”

Jon proceeded to tell Sansa what had happened.

Sansa listened, her expression unreadable. “I thought you were putting Bran’s gifts to good use, not arguing about execution methods.”

“We talked about the threat from beyond the Wall too, but the more one talks, the more new tidings come to one’s ears.”

“How come we did not hear about it, now that I think of it?”

“I suppose that was Lannisters’ information. Words need longer to come from the South. I would not exclude that Cersei’s spies might have actively encouraged the maesters to write Maester Wolkan about it. They might have learned where Sam was headed to, and decided to sow discord in our rows before the parlay. Then, it might have been too late to withdraw the order.”

“So, Daenerys had Drogon execute two highborn prisoners in front of… oh, I see, most Dothraki don’t have sufficient command of the Common Tongue. And her court probably stayed on Dragonstone, so no one else confronted her about it.”

“To be fair, Tyrion went with her. Now that I recall it, there has been an instance where I think Tyrion might have indirectly addressed the episode, while talking at Dragonstone.”

Sansa processed all that Jon had told her, and then pondered it a little while. “It’s difficult for me to say. I need time to think about this. It surely is something we should be watching out for – possible signs of madness. Aerys’ tale is not to be underestimated. I can also understand Daenerys’ defence, though, and Jorah’s point of view. I do lash out myself, but I don’t have dragons, so my reactions are… different. She has them at her command.”

“Melisandre burned people without dragons.”

“Which only reinforces my point, and that is that I would not condemn your aunt as quickly as you seem to have done. She _might_ be someone to worry about, or she might be a queen just like me, but one who happens to have dragons instead of a swordswoman sister with a Valyrian steel dagger. Do you still trust Jorah?”

“I… think I could trust him, although he loves her very much and I am not sure he would… well…”

“As long as he is able to do something, _anything_ , stopping her will work just the same.”

“I stand by what I said: if I become like the Mad King, I want you to execute me. We don’t know if it is something I have in my blood. It doesn’t even have to be something to do with fire. You know what I am talking about.”

Sansa looked at him. Was he brewing Aerys’ madness somewhere deep inside him? Even the Mad King was not a mad king in the beginning. He had changed slowly after his kidnapping, and no one had ever dared to stop him.  Maybe only his son, if rumours about Rhaegar’s plans were true, but so far they did not have any proof of that. If Jon survived the war, would his traumas make him progressively instable? Wasn’t coming back from death, after a mutiny, a coup, a trauma already? He seemed quite fine so far.

Would she lose him to madness, one day?

Jon was visibly shaken now. She didn’t know if he had looked like this the day he was brought back, but this shocked Jon was not the Jon she knew either. She guessed that the shadow of Aerys loomed heavily on him, scaring him, especially when considering that only a day ago Aerys was only his grandfather’s and uncle’s killer, and now was also his other grandfather. _Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land._ Would it be madness, or greatness, or neither for Jon?

Right now, Sansa could not do much, but all she could say or do, she did.

“If you were a danger to my people, it would be my duty to protect them from you, no matter the way and the means. You know that. But right now there is only one thing I can do, and that is to decide that tonight we are not sleeping alone: come to my room again, and let us sleep in each other’s arms. You make me worry, and you are visibly terrified too. I don’t think our court meeting now will ease your burden. We have found some relief in each other many times, from that day when we met again at Castle Black. I don’t want us to be alone tonight. I want us to hold each other tightly.” _As if my holding you tightly could help me keeping you away from insanity._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come on, no one ever thought of high-as-fuck long-haired harp-playing Rhaegar? I surely did.  
> I have fired most of my Chekhov's guns already. Next chapter we will meet Howland Reed!

**Author's Note:**

> Season 7 is pissing me off, especially because of the wasted minutes on the screen and of the missed opportunity of making things a little more interesting than "A and B get together". Here is my attempt. 
> 
> Despite a few dynamics necessary to, ahem, display character development, nuanced situations, plot coherence (you know, all that stuff that the show has gotten rid of completely) there is truly no Jon x Daenerys – or better, not as a couple -. Of course, they are peers, allies, human beings, and – well - family  
> It is also a "protest fic", trying to attack the bad writing and the plot holes.


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